He hung silent for a space as if he sought words. "Yes," he
said at last, "but they tell you nothing."

I did not catch his meaning for a second.

"They don't know," he added.

I looked a little more attentively at his face.

"There are dreams," he said, "and dreams."

That sort of proposition I never dispute.

"I suppose--" he hesitated. "Do you ever dream? I mean
vividly."

"I dream very little," I answered. "I doubt if I have three
vivid dreams in a year."

"Ah!" he said, and seemed for a moment to collect his
thoughts.

"Your dreams don't mix with your memories?" he asked abruptly.
"You don't find yourself in doubt; did this happen or did it not?"

"Hardly ever. Except just for a momentary hesitation now and
then. I suppose few people do."

"Does he say--?" He indicated the book.