of
angels!"

"You've studied those things," I ventured. "Which was mine?"

"Study!" he cried, with a fine degree of scorn. "Yes, we study! We
gather around the brink of a black well and steep ourselves in thought;
we wrinkle our brows and tear our beards. Cries one: 'I know what is
down there!' Another turns to him: 'You lie!' A third challenges: 'Prove
yourselves!' And thus do professors, students, psychologists, churchmen,
laymen, infidels, and fools, gather about the pit! This much for study,"
he snapped his finger. "Unless a man have faith, he is in darkness to
the end of his days!"

"All the same, I believe someone tried to warn the princess," Tommy
insisted. "And it couldn't have been anything less than a master-player
that got off that rhapsody to Jack last night!" There was a note of
teasing in this that the others did not detect.

"Well, Mr. Thomas, you're wrong, sir." Gates, who had been listening
attentively, now uncrossed his legs and spoke. "There isn't a single
curious thing in Mr. Jack's dream. Anyone can see how it came
about--with my apologies to you, sir," he bowed to Monsieur.

We laughed, because Gates had not impressed us as being much of a
psychologist, and Tommy said:

"If you explain how he knew what Graham's name was, I'll listen."

"Why, sir, he saw it on the paper the night before--for it was there, as
sure as you live, and he says he looked at the paper. The only thing is,
he didn't know he saw it--being a little gone in his cups, as you might
say. But he did see it, and it soaked into his head, waiting till arfter
he got to sleep before stirring around."

"That's my first clear idea," Tommy's face brightened; and Gates, thus
encouraged, added:

"The reason he dreamed the old man went ashore for the paper was because
he saw the lady being watched when she came back to her table--and I'll
venture he thought right then that the old one was about to come back,
too, and see what she was doing. Didn't you, sir?"

"I believe I did," I murmured.

"So that stuck in his mind and came out the wrong way, just like dreams
sometimes will. As for the photograph and brass frame--why, Mr. Thomas,
you and the professor took on so about that picture when he'd developed
it that Mr. Jack could have heard you in his sleep, and got that part of
his dream from what you said!"

"It does fit, doesn't it," Tommy cried. "And, Jack, the poetry Sylvia
breathed at you--wasn't it about the same thing our lit