“I’m going to try to catch him,” said Joe, with unaffected simplicity.
“Merely because you had this dream!” continued Glenn, his features relaxing into a smile.
“Yes—I believe in dreams,” said Joe. “Once, when we were living in Philadelphia, I had one of these same dreams. It was just about the same hour—”
“How do you know what hour it was you dreamt about the fish?” again interrupted Glenn.
“Why—I—,” stammered Joe, “I’m sure it was about daybreak, because the sun rose a little while after I got out.”
“That might be the case,” said Glenn, “if you were to dream about the same thing from sun-down till sun-up. And I believe the fish was running in your head last night before I went to bed, for you were then snoring and jerking your arms about.”
“Well, I’ll tell you my other dream, anyhow. I dreamt I was walking along Spruce Street wharf with my head down, when all at once my toe struck against a red morocco pocket-wallet; I stooped down and picked it up and put it in my pocket, and went home before I looked to see what was in it.”
“Well, what was in it when you did look?” asked Glenn.
“There was a one thousand dollar note on the Bank of the United States, with the president’s and cashier’s names on it, all genuine. Oh, I was so happy! I put it in my vest-pocket and sewed it up.”
“But what have you done with it since?” asked Glenn.