"Yes—yes. I dream! I—I'm always dreaming," was the response.
It was evident that Boyne held his half-imbecile prisoner completely in his power, and that all the orders of the insurance agent were obeyed.
Into the room strayed a ray of summer sunlight across the threadbare green carpet, lighting up the dingy old place.
The stranger from upstairs saw it, and squeaked:
"Look! It's summer—summer!"
"Summer!" cried the man who held him enthralled. "You're dreaming! It's winter. We get sun in winter sometimes. Surely you know that—dense as you are."
"I'm not dense," came the protest. "I do all you ask—fine jobs, too."
"You're dense about sunshine," Boyne repeated.
"Ah! yes. But not about the rats. Where's Nibby?"
Boyne caught the little animal and gave it into the hands of the strange figure, who stroked its sleek coat.