"That's funny!" he exclaimed.
He rose, rubbed his eyes, and walked to the mirror, examining it curiously. He had always been a man of visions—this child of the woods and open fields.
"I wonder if it's an illusion?" he muttered. "I'll try again."
He returned to the couch and lay down. Again it grew a second time plainer than before, if possible. He watched for a long time with a feeling of awe.
"I wonder if I'm looking into the face of my own soul?" he mused.
He studied this second image with keen interest. It was five shades paler than the first. The thing had happened to him once before and his wife had declared it a sign that he would be elected to a second term, but the paleness of the second image meant that he would not live through it. It was uncanny. He rose and paced the floor, laid down again, and the image vanished. What did it mean?
Only that day a secret service man had come to warn him of a new plot of assassination and beg him to double the guard.
"What is the use, my dear boy, in setting up the gap when the fence is down all around?"
"Remember, sir, they shot a hole through your hat one night last week on your way to the Soldiers' Home."
"Well, what of it? If a man really makes up his mind to kill me he can do it——"