Beale that he had come back out of the dream just for his sake? Beale who did not believe in the dream—did not understand it—hated it?
"Don't you go turning agin me," he said; "whether I dream or not, you and me'll stand together. I'm not goin' to do things wot's wrong—low, dirty tricks—so I ain't. But I knows we can get on without that. What would you like to do for your living if you could choose?"
"I warn't never put to no trade," said Beale, "'cept being 'andy with a 'orse. I was a wagoner's mate when I was a boy. I likes a 'orse. Or a dawg," he added. "I ain't no good wiv me 'ands—not at working, you know—not to say working."
Dickie suppressed a wild notion he had had of getting into that dream again, learning some useful trade there, waking up and teaching it to Mr. Beale.
"Ain't there nothing else you'd like to do?" he asked.
"I don't know as there is," said Mr. Beale drearily; "without it was pigeons."
Then Dickie wondered whether things that you learned in dreams would "stay learnt." Things you learned to do with your hands. The Greek and the Latin "stayed learned" right enough and sang in his brain encouragingly.
"Don't you get shirty if I talks about that dream," he said. "You dunno what a dream it was. I wasn't kidding you. I did dream it, honour bright. I dreamed I could carve wood
