"What'd I tell you? It sure is a dream. You're Terry all right I guess and I'm me—Mike—but in a dream everybody always looks funny. You got black hair, all straight and cut short."
"You too. But guess you're Mike though, as long as it's a dream. Only I feel pretty real."
"Sure, me too. Sometimes dreams are like that. Just like for real."
"Well I hope we don't get into a nightmare. They make me sweat awful."
"I'm all sweaty now—so're you. It's sure hot around here. Where in heck d'you suppose we are, anyway?"
"You don't think Dad's thing killed us, and—and we're—"
"Naw—they wouldn't have beds or anything. Anyhow, Dad told us all about that once. There's no such place. It's got something to do with state of mind, whatever that is."
"Well we've been kinda bad every now and then just the same."
"Dad says that hasn't got anything to do with it, don't you remember? Nobody keeps books on you, like a report card, or anything. It's up to you, and you know how you feel about it inside. That's what he said, and I believe Dad. Dad's smart, Terry."
"Wish he was here too."