"What now?"
"Do you believe in Washoe?"
"Of course; why not?"
"Well, I suppose it's all right. Good-night; I'm in." And my new friend left me to my slumbers.
"I SAY, CAP!"
But who could slumber in such a bedlam, where scores and hundreds of crack-brained people kept rushing up and down the passage all night, in and out of every room, banging the doors after them, calling for boots, carpet sacks, cards, cocktails, and toddies; while amid the ceaseless din arose ever and anon that potent cry of "Washoe!" which had unsettled every brain. I turned over and over for the fiftieth time, and at length fell into an uneasy doze. A mountain seemed to rise before me. Millions of rats with human faces were climbing up its sides, some burrowing into holes, some rolling down into bottomless pits, but all labeled Washoe. Soon the mountain began to shake its sides with suppressed laughter, and out of a volcano on the top burst sheets of flame, through which jumped ten thousand grotesque figures in the shape of dollars with spider legs, shrieking with all their might, "Washoe! ho! ho! Washoe! ho! ho!"
