himself to be listening to an offer of a choice of police-stations.
There were whispers—two small and soft voices. They made a sleepy music.
"He's more yours than mine," said one.
"You're more his than I am," said the other.
"You're older than I am," said the first.
"You're stronger than I am," said the second.
"Let's spin for it," said the first voice, and there was a humming sound ending in a little tinkling fall.
"That settles it," said the second voice—"here?"
"And when?"
"Three's a good number."
Then everything was very quiet, and sleep wrapped Dickie like a soft cloak. When he awoke his eyelids no longer felt heavy, so he opened them. "That was a rum dream," he told himself, as he blinked in broad daylight.
He lay in bed—a big, strange bed—in a room that he had never seen before. The windows were low and long, with small panes, and the light was broken by upright stone divisions. The floor was of dark wood, strewn strangely with flowers and green herbs, and the bed was a four-post bed like the one he had slept in at Talbot House; and in the green curtains was woven a white pattern, very like the thing that was engraved on Tinkler and on the white seal. On the coverlet lavender and other herbs were laid. And the wall was hung with pictures done
