DREAM MAN

Auckland Star, Volume LXIX, Issue 224, 22 September 1938, Page 30

DREAM MAN

Short Story

"••••■■•■■■■■■l J HAVK a dream that it is raining and Kwkn-n-Mif.B is floundering "bout in Xortholt mud. I tell Bishop about this, il.ohi.p shv» we ()We }| r „ Hernaiianjjan threw week* and the foiirpenee in hi* pocket says we do not rat to-morrow unless dreams me translated into action. I do not tell Bishop I al*o dreamed I saw the man in the moon. Bishop is a mutei inlint. We. walk to Xortholt on a saveloy each. When the crowd hears us laying - to 1 on l\iss a Miss when every other I'ookie on the limine is at ."> to 4, we rake in £;tl) ,„| ( |. And the. cloud* are piling up all morning. It rained all piyrlit. It. fell down in I'Uiketl'iils ju-t as Kinxa-.Miss wan being h'<| n hi.in a .onrse as dry us my mouth. There are two tax in at the jj.it ix. We just heat the mob by 10 yard* and take a taxi each to South Harrow t'ndcrgi-ound. We are approaching the booking office, when I am jrrnblied by the arm. I fee a little mummy of a man. Big ears, lie has. that Hop around a head the size of a n*t. "Blimey 1" I whisper. "It's the man in the moon!" I remembered that fare like it was my own. "Ha! You know!" he rroake<l. "The untutored mind has ever l>een basically pwychic. And to think 1 have wasted momrnt as rirecvous a* n life—with so-called in< Hgent men." Bishop is looking at the man in the moon as if he had found a new sort of flea. Riidiop eolleets fleas. He i# jroing to present the collection to the Britkli Museum one day, he says. The man in the moon clawed my arm. He gave me gooseflesh around my ears. "I know you will understand!" Believe it or not, he hypnotised us so that he dragged us to a seat. And UK with a couple of hundred foaming punter* hunting for our gizzards! "I have but a minute," he croaked, undoing the string about a package he was carrying. "I am Professor Milton John. I am leaving for my stratosphere bullet for the moon at 3 a.m. I must leave. The moon is in a more propitious position." All I could see now wa* hi* eyes. They were all black, like Chinese eyes, and they seemed to have lightning through them. I could feel Bishoj trembling. His stomach was a jelly. "The moon! Luna herself! Do you realise what that means to the worlds To science? To me? I, Milton John, th« first human to leave the earth! Th* dream of untold rr illenium*. And all tr be ruined for the want of a paltrv twenty pound*. My bullet is in my workshop at Wen Id* tone. I have used ni every penny. It must be transported t< my stratosphere field at Denham Twenty pounds the transport company n*ks. Twenty pounds againot nil science Science rests in my hand. All the sun of human knowledge can be remodelled by me!" Bishop came to with a jerk. "Twentj quid! Y' dirty little tyke, I'd wring yei neck if I 'ad the time. Keeping us here with half . . . with important businesi to attend to!" The professor clutched at Bishop'* coat. "You are from the racecourse! '. know. You are gamblers. Wonld yoi gamble twenty pound* aj»iin*t bit lift —the story of my work? Here.- Hi shook the parcel in our faces. I couh see it was a typescript. "Twenty pound against my life story. If not for science then for a gamble! Think what resti upon your decision! The shadow of ever] great scientist is at our elbows." Hi flung a claw around and he wai dribbling. Or perhaps it was sweat "Lavoieier, Da Vinci, Bacon, Newton Einstein—in their all-knowing glory o the beyond they recognise their master They know! They stand there quivering that the secret of creation may be re vealed at last. That Man may stand < colossus in Time, the masterpiece o creation." Bishop dragged his coat away, seized Bishop's arm.

—By STANLEY BROGDEN

I "Give it to him, Bish!" I pleaded, and I •ulled the bag under his coat. "I tell roll I saw him in the dream last night."' "Not 'arf you did!" hise.'d Bishop, j And yon ruddy well saw Kiss-a-miss' lp ter the neck in mud. Dreums!" "Remember what Mother Fernanegan ;<>ld us in the cards," I sajs. "The •rossroads, and we must choose." "Mother Fernanegan wants three ' weeks' rent," eneers Bishop, "And she'll jet it. Come on, chum. That mob. . . . Kre! Hi!" The Professor made a swoop, grasped the bng of takings in his cluws and pulled. 1 would not have thought he •mild have broken a piece of string, but the strap bust like a thread. The Professor was running for his life before we could think. We dash after him. lint he is running straight into a crowd getting off a 140 bus. 140 buses nre from Xortholt, and that crowd wns familiar. We makes it. Bishop gets jammed in the doors. The mob streams on the platform as we nre moving off. We can hear them yelling blue murder above the racket of the train. Bishf.p mops his forehead. "I'm gettin' on foer this game, mate." he says. "What's that yer carry in'?" "Who's currying what?" 1 says. Then I realise I have a pnrcel under my arm. "That!" splutters Bishop. "Where the (ire and water did yer get that?"' I was currving the Professor's life story! "1 dollno. Risb." I answers, shaken. "I don't remember picking it tip." If I swore on the Bible, I do not know how that parcel got under my arm. Bishop takes it gently. "Thirty quid's worth and waste pape- about four bob a ton. If I could get my hands on that little. ..." We sit looking nt the pnrcel, not even opening it. Kvcry cent we had wns in that taking bng except a half a crown 1 had put in my pocket by mistake, and a shilling of that had gone on the fares. Bishop's fingers were working. "Dreams!" he kept muttering. "Dreams!" As if it was my fault I happen to be dream conscious We come out of the coma nt Hammersmith, where we get off, hopirr. We nre lucky, and get out withou* trouble. "Let's have one, Bish," I says when we get into the Broadway. "Closed," grunts Bishop. The way he was staring at that parcel gave me the horrors. He starts off towards the bridge. I follow, though my stomach i : hurting me something awful, it is so empty. Bishop is bigger than I nm, and hae a war wound in the head. You have to watch Bish. We walk to the bridge without spenking a word. He stops right in the middle, tnkes tV. parcel from me quietly, nnd, before 1 can protest, drops it into the river. Just like that. I heard it splash faintly. He looks into the water a minute. * There is a policeman walking up behind us. When the policeman is level with us. Bishop turns and says, "You'd better take us along, mate. We welshed at Xortholt this afternoon." I stand a minute, petrifl.-d. As I make a bolt. Bishop steps acr las and I can remember seeing his ft*', coming, that's all. Xexji jpaprning I am in the waiting roorißMW Jishop, the Beak be : ng overtime WfcpWmrglary case. A po'.iceman conies itr c, with an open paper. I take one look and snatch it. Right across the front page is splashed in huge letters: "Stratosphere Bullet Leaves Denham at 3 a.m. for Moon." "Scorned Professor F.rat Man to Leave Earth." "Greenwich Telescope Follows Space Ship. . . ." At the bottom, in small print, was: "Professor Milton John, we arc informed, hawked Fleet Street publishers with his life story. In every case it was rejected. Who has this life story? Is it flying through space with its author? That manuscript would fetch every penny of ,C">000 to day. ..." j I folded the paper, hands* it. br.ck to the outraged policeman wit!, thanks, walks across to Bishop and suvs, "Yes, dreams!" And socks him. iasassßaaaßaaß aaaaaaaßßaßßa