Now to do that we must work, and work hard, if we are to live
at the pace Ed is setting us--but there is no reason why we should
remain here, and I propose that we move elsewhere. I've got a scheme
in my head, rather a colossal one I admit, but not altogether
impossible." "What is it?" Kelson asked. "Yes, out with it," Curtis grunted. "It is this," Hamar said, "I suggest that we go to London--London in
England--I guess it's the richest town in the world--and there set up
as sorcerers--The Sorcery Company Ltd. We should begin with divination
and juggling, and go on, according to the seven stages. We should of
course sell our cures and spells, and there is not the slightest doubt
but that we should make an enormous pile, with which we would
gradually buy up, not merely London, but the whole of England." "That's rather a tall order," Kelson murmured. "A small one, you mean," Curtis sneered, "you could put the whole of
England twice over in California, and from what I've heard I don't go
much on London. I reckon it isn't much bigger than San Francisco." "Still you wouldn't mind being joint owner of it," Hamar laughed." "No, perhaps not," Curtis said rather dubiously. "I guess we could buy
the crown and wear it in turn. Sam Westlake up at Meidler's always
used to say the Britishers would sell their souls if any one bid high
enough. They think of nothing but money over there. When shall we go?" "At the end of our week," Hamar said, "that is to say on Wednesday--in
three days' time." "First class all the way, of course," Curtis said, "I'll see to the
arrangements for the catering and berths." "All right!" Hamar laughed, as he filled three glasses with champagne. "Here, drink, you fellows, 'Long life, health and prosperity--to
Hamar, Curtis and Kelson, the Modern Sorcery Company Ltd.'"




CHAPTER VIII

TWO DREAMS


"Do you believe in dreams?" Gladys Martin inquired, as, fresh from a
stroll in the garden, she joined her aunt, Miss Templeton, in the
breakfast room at Pine Cottage. "I believe in fairies," Miss Templeton rejoined, smiling indulgently
as she looked at the fair face beside her. "What was the dream,
dearie?" Gladys laughed a little mischievously. "I don't quite know whether I
ought to tell you," she said. "It might shock you." "Perhaps I'm not so easily shocked as you imagine," Miss Templeton
replied. "What was it?" "Well!" Gladys began, flinging both arms round her aunt's neck and
playing with the pleats in her blouse, "I dreamed that I was walking
in the little wood at the end of the garden, and that the trees and
flowers walked and talked with me. And we danced together--and, first
of all, I had for my partner, a red rose--and then, an ash. They both
made love to me, and squeezed my waist with their hot, fibrous hands. A poppy piped, a bramble played the concertina, and a lilac grew
desperately jealous of me and tried to claw my hair. Then the dancing
ceased, and I found myself in the midst of bluebells that shook their
bells at me with loud trills of laughter. And out from among them,
came a buttercup, pointing its yellow head at me. 'See! see,' it
cried, 'what Gladys is carrying behind her. Naughty Gladys!' And trees
and flowers--everything around me--shook with laughter. Then I grew
hot and cold all over, and did not know which way to look for my
confusion, till a willow, having compassion on me said, 'Take no
notice of them! They don't know any better.' "I begged him to explain to me why they were so amused, and he grew
very embarrassed and uncomfortable, and stammered--oh! so funnily,
'Well if you really wish to know--it's a bud, a baby white rose, and
it's clinging to your dress.' "'A baby! A baby rose!' shrieked all the flowers. "'And it means,' a bluebell said, stepping perkily out from amidst
its fellows, 'that your lover is coming--your lover with a
troll-le-loll-la--and--well, if you want to know more ask the
gooseberries, the gooseberries that hang on the bushes, or the parsley
that grows in the bed,'--and at that all the flowers and trees
shrieked with laughter--'Ta-ta-tra-la-la'--and with my ears full of
the rude laughter of the wood I awoke. What do you think of it? Isn't
it rather a quaint mixture of the--of the sacred--at least the
artistic--and the profane?" "Quite so," said Miss Templeton with an amused chuckle, "but I
shouldn't ask for an interpretation of it if I were you." "Not for an interpretation of the trees and flowers?" Gladys asked
innocently. "I'm sure trees and flowers have a special significance in
dreams." "Very well then, my dear, ask Mrs. Sprat." "What! ask the Vicar's wife!" Gladys ejaculated, "when I never go to
church." "Certainly," Miss Templeton replied, laughing again, "Mrs. Sprat will
quite understand. And I've always been told she is very interested in
anything to do with the Occult. But hush! Here's your father. You'd
better not tell him your dream. He's tired to death, he says, of
hearing about your lovers, and agrees with me--there's no end to
them." "Never mind what he says--his bark's worse then his bite," Gladys
rejoined, "he doesn't really care how many I have so long as they keep
within bounds, and I like them! Father!" John Martin, who entered the room at that moment, went straight to his
daughter to be kissed. "I wish you wouldn't always select that bald spot," he said testily,
"I don't want to be everlastingly reminded I'm losing my hair." "Where do you want me to kiss you, then?" Gladys argued, "on the tip
of your nose? That's all very well for you, John Martin, but I prefer
the top of your head. But the poor dear looks worried, what is it?" "I didn't have a very good night," her father replied, "I dreamed a
lot!" Gladys looked at Miss Templeton and laughed. "Did you?" she said gently. "What a shame! I never dream. What was it
all about?" "Flowers!" John Martin snapped, "idiotic flowers! Roses, lilac,
tulips! Bah! I do wish you would have some other hobby." Gladys looked at her aunt again, this time with a half serious, half
questioning expression. "Shall I be a politician?" she cooed, "and fill the house with
suffragettes? You bad man, I believe you would revel in it. Don't you
think so, Auntie?" "I think, instead of teasing your father so unmercifully, you had
better pour him out a cup of tea," Miss Templeton replied. "Jack,
there's a letter for you." "Where? Under my plate! what a place to put it. That's you," and John
Martin frowned, or rather, attempted to frown, at Gladys. "Why it's
about Davenport--Dick Davenport. He's very ill--had a stroke
yesterday, and the doctor declares his condition critical. His nephew,
Shiel, so Anne says, has been sent for, and arrived at Sydenham last
night! If that's not bad news I don't know what is!" John Martin said,
thrusting his plate away from him and leaning back in his chair. "It's
true I can manage the business all right myself--and there's the
possibility, of course, that this young Shiel may shape all right.