“Oh, it’s nothing of any importance,” said Poke hastily.
“Huh! Seemed to be important enough a minute ago,” Step remarked. “What was the yarn, Sam?”
Poke preferred to do his own explaining, if explanation there had to be.
“I was telling Sam a story—yes; a story about a dream I had last night. And—well, I was telling him, too, that it worried me. It wasn’t a common dream—not by a long shot! And—and if you’ve got to have the whole thing, it is worrying me a lot! There’s trouble brewing for somebody, a heap of trouble.”
Step regarded Poke with wide-opened eyes and sagging jaw, but the Shark’s lip curled scornfully.
“Nonsense!” he jeered.
“I tell you, it was a warning!” Poke insisted.
“Warning of what?”
“Why—why, I don’t know; that’s just the trouble.”
The Shark was regarding the prophet of evil very steadily. “Poke,” said he, “what did you eat last night before you went to bed?”