We hurried along, soon reaching his place, an unpretentious little dwelling sitting far back in a spacious yard and surrounded by fruit trees. As we entered the front door Miss Arabella met us in the hall, a look of surprise on her face at the sight of her brother arriving with a guest. "Why, Plato," she commenced, "you should have—"
"Now, Arabella," he broke in, "ah-er-hem, you surely remember Henry Jackson. He has er-ah, that is, I have prevailed upon him to take a room with us. Hem, I quite urged it upon him, yes yes. Now I must leave you as it is past my hour for commencing work." Saying Which he darted rapidly from us, disappearing through a door at the end of the hall.
"Why, of course, I remember Mr. Jackson, Plato's oldest friend," exclaimed Miss Arabella, "put your hat and coat on the rack and come right in. You know my brother so you must not mind him." She led the way to the library where a cheerful fire blazed in the grate and we were soon deep in reminiscences of times long gone by when she was just Plato's big sister and I an applicant for cookies and sugar plums. She was the same good natured creature she had always been, though now her hair was silvered and her face lined.
We were not long in coming to an understanding about my room, as her terms were easy and I would have agreed to anything in reason. Plato occupied a room on the first floor next to what he called his study, while Miss Arabella used one of the upstairs fronts and it was arranged that I should have a back one, of which there were two. I was to have only my breakfast and Sunday meals with them, which suited me well, as my hours were often uncertain. I was treated just as one of the family and was soon as perfectly at home as though I had never had another. We spent many pleasant evenings together, Plato and I having numerous heated but friendly arguments over his queer theories.
Our lives had gone on in this even tenor for a matter of six months, when one Sunday morning Plato joined us at the breakfast table looking even more solemn and owlish than usual; he seemed very much preoccupied, taking his chair mechanically without a word, and proceeding to tuck his napkin into his shirt front.
"Why, Plato!" exclaimed his sister, "are you still asleep? You seat yourself like one in a trance and return no answer to our greeting."
"Oh-er-ah," he commenced, rapidly batting his eyes and seemingly making an effort to collect his faculties, "yes yes, good morning Arabella, and you Jackson; er-hem, I fear my thoughts were wandering."
"I should think they were, my dear," returned his sister, "I never saw you so absent before."
"Yes," I broke in, "your mind was as far away as the north pole. I'll wager you have been evolving another of your wild theories which I shall have to argue you out of after breakfast."
"Er, no Jackson, not this time. But ah-hem, I have experienced a very unusual dream."
"Is that all?" I replied laughingly, "Come, tell us of it, that we may know the nonsense which occupies the mind of a scholar during sleep."
"Yes," he went on, paying no attention to my raillery, "very unusual and extremely vivid for a dream, if it was a dream."
"If it was a dream," said Miss Arabella sharply, "What in the name of goodness are you talking about, Plato?"
"Ah-hem, why, I saw him just as plainly as I see you and Jackson now and er-ah, his speech was very distinct, yes, quite so."
"Man, are you crazy?" I shouted. "Come Goodsmith, wake up; what is it all about anyway?"
"Yes, Plato," said his sister, "pull yourself together and tell us what has happened."
"Hem-ah, yes yes," he responded, making a visible effort to comply with this request and looking from one to the other of us. "Yes, er-ah, a figure, shall I say? Well, this figure appeared to me as I lay in bed. He was dressed like a fop of the reign of Queen Anne, but was fitted with skeleton head. He held his hat in his hand and hopped about with a mincing step as though entering a ballroom and all the time I could hear his skeleton jaws clacking, clacking. Stopping at the foot of my bed he peered at me long and earnestly, then extending his arm and pointing a long bony finger in my direction exclaimed, "Plato Goodsmith, place your earthly affairs in order for I shall return for you on Thursday morning." He spoke slowly and distinctly, then with the same mincing gait, turned in the direction of the door where he disappeared. I have been trying to convince myself that I saw nothing, that all was merely a dream, but it was all so real and his words seem to ring in my ears yet."
"Nonsense, old men," I said, rising and clapping him heartily on the shoulder, "Think no more of it. Dreams always go by opposites. Come, look about you, the sun is shining and the birds are singing at the window. Occupy your mind with our plans for the day."
"Well, er Jackson, this dream, if dream it was, has impressed me deeply, but yes yes, I shall make an effort; you are right, let us say no more of it."
"That is sensible, brother," remarked Miss Arabella, "why, I am surprised that a man of your common sense could be upset by so silly an occurrence."
"Well well, sister, I dare say you are right but ah-hem, let us not discuss it further. Now what can you offer me for breakfast this morning? I assure you I am ravenous," he finished cheerfully.
However, he ate scarcely anything, falling repeatedly into periods of abstraction, soon leaving the table and retiring to his study. We saw nothing of him during the day except at meal times when he seemed more like himself though still evidently pondering over his dream of the night before.
Next morning he appeared apparently as usual, discussing ordinary topics and making no reference to his unpleasant experience. It was the same on Tuesday morning and thinking to rally him a little and see if he was still thinking of the matter, I said as I was leaving for work, "Well, Plato, you have seen nothing more of your midnight friend have you, the Queen Anne dude with the death's head?"
"Er, no Jackson; no, but ahem, he said Thursday morning, you know, and this is but Tuesday."
"Nonsense, man," I responded, hastening down the steps, "forget it, dreams can harm no one."
I was sorry to have mentioned the thing again to him as I saw it was evidently still preying on his mind and it was with a feeling of relief that on hurrying home that evening I found him seated in the library absorbed in a book. We had one of our old time arguments that night and he retired to rest seemingly his old self.
When he appeared in the breakfast room Wednesday morning though, I knew that the phantom must have visited him again during the night. He looked pale and anxious and his hand trembled so he had difficulty in raising his coffee cup to his lips.
"Plato!" exclaimed his sister, "are you ill? Shall I call Dr. Hobson?"
"No no, Arabella, I er-ah, shall be all right presently. Quite well in fact. There is nothing wrong."
