“Wrong up here again,” muttered Stacy Brown, significantly tapping his head with a finger.
“I should say that Emma has read one of those five-cent dream books,” suggested Miss Briggs.
“It is my opinion that she has been fitting herself for a lunatic seminary—cemeter—sanitarium,” corrected Stacy.
“Tell us about it,” urged Grace, smiling over at Miss Dean.
“I will if you folks won’t laugh at me. I am a student of Professor Freud’s new science of dreams,” announced Emma with dignity. “The professor has demonstrated beyond question that there is an imponderable quality within us—”
“You mean hot biscuit and gravy,” interjected Hippy Wingate. “Since I overate this evening I surely have an imponderable quality in my midst,” he added amid much laughter.
Emma elevated a disdainful chin.
“I see nothing funny in a scientific discussion,” she retorted. “As I was about to say when so rudely interrupted, Professor Freud has conclusively proved that every dream has its meaning—that the imponderable quality in the subconscious mind never ceases to work; that it even works when we sleep, and—”
“Old Subconscious ought to join a union,” suggested Stacy.
“And that, if we will but learn a few simple rules, we shall be able to interpret those dreams and be better able to avoid many perils as well as to take advantage of real opportunities. Always let the imponderable quality have its way,” urged Emma.