“I see myself skipping gracefully over to the wash-basin,” he said aloud.
The Mind was attentive, but Matter did not bulge. He decided to modify the test.
“I see myself standing proudly on my own feet by the side of my bed.”
Still no result.
“I see one of my legs thrust from the covers,” he persisted, in the line of the best psychopathic suggestion. Immediately, one lavender pajama emerged. “I see both of my legs out. I see myself raising myself to a sitting position,” he continued triumphantly, and, suiting the action to the word, he sat bolt upright. At the same moment, King O’Leary rose to a sitting position. They confronted each other thus drowsily a moment, and then smiled, and the smile seemed to descend over the accidental meeting with the binding cement of friendship.
“Well, Santa Claus, how are you?” said Tootles, with the superior cruelty of the teetotaler.
King O’Leary made a wry face, and ran his hand nervously through his hair.
“Was I pretty bad last night?”
“My boy, I thought you were charming,” said Tootles, encouragingly, “particularly when you put me to bed and hung up my stocking. Mother couldn’t have done it more gently.”
“Good Lord, I don’t get that way once in a dog’s age!” said King O’Leary, rather ashamed; and he asked, nervously: “Did I get to shooting off my mouth?”