I had just put out the light, when I heard
voices in the corridor. I listened attentively. I recognized Mr.
Rawjester's stern tones.
"Have you fed No. 1?" he asked.
"Yes, sir," said a gruff voice, apparently belonging to a domestic.
"How's No. 2?"
"She's a little off her feed, just now, but will pick up in a day
or two!"
"And No. 3?"
"Perfectly furious, sir. Her tantrums are ungovernable."
"Hush!"
The voices died away, and I sank into a fitful slumber.
I dreamed that I was wandering through a tropical forest. Suddenly
I saw the figure of a gorilla approaching me. As it neared me, I
recognized the features of Mr. Rawjester. He held his hand to his
side as if in pain. I saw that he had been wounded. He recognized
me and called me by name, but at the same moment the vision changed
to an Ashantee village, where, around the fire, a group of negroes
were dancing and participating in some wild Obi festival. I awoke
with the strain still ringing in my ears.
"Hokee-pokee wokee fum!"
Good Heavens! could I be dreaming? I heard the voice distinctly on
the floor below, and smelt something burning. I arose, with an
indistinct presentiment of evil, and hastily putting some cotton in
my ears and tying a towel about my head, I wrapped myself in a
shawl and rushed down stairs.
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