"I suppose there's no chance of this Sleeper asserting himself. I suppose
he's certain to be a puppet--in Ostrog's hands or the Council's, as soon
as the struggle is over."

"In Ostrog's hands--certainly. Why shouldn't he be a puppet? Look at his
position. Everything done for him, every pleasure possible. Why should he
want to assert himself?"

"What are these Pleasure Cities?" said Graham, abruptly.

The old man made him repeat the question. When at last he was assured of
Graham's words, he nudged him violently. "That's _too_ much," said he.
"You're poking fun at an old man. I've been suspecting you know more than
you pretend."

"Perhaps I do," said Graham. "But no! why should I go on acting? No, I do
not know what a Pleasure City is."

The old man laughed in an intimate way.

"What is more, I do not know how to read your letters, I do not know
what money you use, I do not know what foreign countries there are. I do
not know where I am. I cannot count. I do not know where to get food, nor
drink, nor shelter."

"Come, come," said the old man, "if you had a glass of drink now, would
you put it in your ear or your eye?"

"I want you to tell me all these things."

"He, he! Well, gentlemen who dress in silk must have their fun." A
withered hand caressed Graham's arm for a moment. "Silk. Well, well! But,
all the same, I wish I was the man who was put up as the Sleeper. He'll
have a fine time of it. All the pomp and pleasure. He's a queer looking
face. When they used to let anyone go to see him, I've got tickets and
been. The image of the real one, as the photographs show him, this
substitute used to be. Yellow. But he'll get fed up. It's a queer world.
Think of the luck of it. The luck of it. I expect he'll be sent to Capri.
It's the best fun for a greener."

His cough overtook him again. Then he began mumbling enviously of
pleasures and strange delights. "The luck of it, the luck of it! All my
life I've been in London, hoping to get my chance."

"But you don't know that the Sleeper died," said Graham, suddenly.

The old man made him repeat his words.

"Men don't live beyond ten dozen. It's not in the order of things," said
the old man. "I'm not a fool. Fools may believe it, but not me."

Graham became angry with the old man's assurance. "Whether you are a fool
or not," he said, "it happens you are wrong about the Sleeper."

"Eh?"

"You are wrong about the Sleeper. I haven't told you before, but I will
te