Page:Weird Tales Volume 10 Number 6 (1927-12).djvu/99

 Certainly, foolish boy, you should know that by this time. We've had it almost a year. Rankin looked so utterly dejected, Mother kept him.'

"I shut my eyes, letting my body seep in a feeling of wondrous content. I felt my chin quiver and my eyes fill. When I opened my eyes I saw Kate observing me quizzically.

Tell me, Danny'

What?' I wondered if I should.

Tell me everything, Danny boy. You've had a bad dream. Tell me all about it.'

Well' I fell silent.

"I held her left hand tightly. With her right hand she soothed my forehead with slow, methodical strokes.

Tell me everything, Danny boy,' she persisted.

Well, here goes,' I said. ‘Don't let it shock you too much.

I dreamed that we lived in a miserable, slummy flat in Newark. It was very realistic and caused me a great deal of pain. Mother was blowsy and naggy. You bristled with silent antipathy. Our impoverished condition evolved an atmosphere of dull, chronic antagonism. In the perennial struggle for existence, I felt unfit and misplaced. I tried, Katie, I tried. Early mornings I made the rounds of factories, and waited with other dull-eyed applicants for the employment manager. They always seemed to pass me by. By 1 o'clock I was sitting with the crowd at the News office—and oh, Kate, there was a sodden joy, when after a few futile attempts at job-hunting, I found myself walking slowly away from the downtown district—free to dream for the rest of the day. I fabricated beautiful visions of dream-texture.

I came home to Broome Street one day, my mind aglow with a dazzling inspiration. The steps and halls were filthy with dust and spittle—and the bare boards creaked and sagged under my weight. On the third floor I pushed the door of our flat open. Mother was wiping her coarse red hands on her apron. You were lying on the kitchen lounge, sobbing. The scene was not unfamiliar, so I rushed, unheeding, into the parlor, found paper and pencil, and began to write. I wrote hurriedly, feverishly, with no thought of the commercial value of my fantasy.

Wearing sandals and loin-cloth, I was running with long, joyous strides along a forest trail. Perhaps I was an Indian runner. I felt lithe and carefree. Twigs and dried leaves rustled and snapped under my feet. Stooping to avoid overhanging branches, brushing insects from my face, I ran. The twilight atmosphere was heavy and tense with romance. I drank deeply of the wine-scented air. In a clearing two figures were dancing. Perhaps they were Pierrot and Pierrette. The air hung motionless, perfumed and tense. I found myself merged into the dance. Ruthie was in my arms, lissome, soft and smiling. We were the only two in the clearing. Perhaps we were Pierrot and Pierrette. We moved in wild fantastic swings. Neither of us had spoken. A big round moon came out to bathe us in a silvery glow.

Then a voice from the kitchen, harsh and sibilant, cut into my consciousness:

"Mother, I tell you I won't stand it much longer. Brabin grabbed me around the waist and kissed me. The touch of his horrid lips on mine was unbearable. I'm going to quit. I'll find another job"

"Gawd, and what'll we do in the meantime? Tomorrow's the first—Gawd, we'll be put out"

Oh, Katie, it was horrible, horrible'

"Silently, Kate continued to soothe my forehead with steady, soft strokes.

"Suddenly I sat up, a-quiver with determination.