But, no. He must needs stop,
and give his mind the chance to be employed with other things. And
that is just what happened. For about this time, having nothing else
to do, like that old king of Bible renown, he dreamed a dream. But
unlike the royal dreamer, he asked no seer or prophet to interpret his
dream to him. He merely drove his hand down into his inside pocket,
and fished up an ancient dream-book, greasy and tattered with use.
Over this he pored until his eyes bulged and his hands shook with
excitement.

"Got 'em at last!" he exclaimed. "Dey ain't no way fu' dem to git away
f'om me. I's behind 'em. I's behind 'em I tell you," and then his face
fell and he sat for a long time with his chin in his hand thinking,
thinking.

"Polly," said he when his wife came in, "d'you know what I dremp 'bout
las' night?"

"La! Sam Jackson, you ain't gone to dreamin' agin. I thought you done
quit all dat foolishness."

"Now jes' listen at you runnin' on. You ain't never axed me what I
dremp 'bout yit."

"Hit don' make much diffunce to me, less 'n you kin dream 'bout a
dollah mo' into my pocket."

"Dey has been sich things did," said Sam sententiously. He got up and
went out. If there is one thing above another that your professional
dreamer does demand, it is appreciation. Sam had failed to get it from
Polly, but he found a balm for all his hurts when he met Bob Davis.

"What!" exclaimed Bob. "Dreamed of a nakid black man. Fu' de Lawd
sake, Sam, don' let de chance pass. You got 'em dis time sho'. I'll
put somep'n' on it myse'f. Wha'd you think ef we'd win de 'capital'?"

That was enough. The two parted and Sam hurried home. He crept into
the house. Polly was busy hanging clothes on the roof. Where now are
the guardian spirits that look after the welfare of trusting women?
Where now are the enchanted belongings that even in the hands of the
thief cry out to their unsuspecting owners? Gone. All gone with the
ages of faith that gave them birth. Without an outcry, without even so
much as a warning jingle, the contents of the blue jug and the
embodied hope of a woman's heart were transferred to the gaping pocket
of Sam Jackson. Polly went on hanging up clothes on the roof.

Sam chuckled to himself: "She won't never have a chanst to scol' me.
I'll git de drawin's early dis evenin', an' go ma'chin' home wif a new
silk fu' huh, an' money besides. I do' want my wife waihin' no white
folks' secon'-han' clothes nohow. My, but won'