by Roy J. Snell
CHAPTER XV THE INTERPRETER OF DREAMS
"Curiosity," said the young man as he reached for the mustard, "oncekilled a cat. But anyway, I'm curious. What about it? Were you winning abet when you came down that rope?"
They had arrived safely at the little restaurant round the corner.Perched on stools, they were drinking coffee and munching away at smallpies for all the world like old pals.
"No, I--" Florence hesitated. He was a nice-appearing young man; his eyeswere fine. There was a perpetually perplexed look on his face which said,"Life surprises me."
"Well, yes," she said, changing her mind, "perhaps I was winning a betwith--" she did not finish. She had started to say, "a bet with death."This, she reasoned, would lead to questions and perhaps to the disclosingof facts she wished to conceal.
"What do you do beside reading books on the street at night?" she askedquickly.
"I--why, when I don't study books I study people," he replied frankly."I'm--well, you might call me a psychologist, though that requires quitea stretch of the imagination." He grinned. Then as a sort ofafterthought, he added, "Sometimes I tell people the meaning of theirdreams."
"And you, also!" Florence exclaimed, all but dropping her pie. She begansliding from the stool.
"No, no! Don't go!" he cried in sudden consternation. "What in the worldhave I said?"
"Dreams," she replied, "you pretend to interpret dreams. And there'snothing to it. You--you don't look like a cheat."
"Indeed I'm not!" he protested indignantly. "And there truly is somethingin dreams--a whole lot, only not in the way people used to think. Slideback up on that stool and I'll explain.
"Waiter," he ordered, "give Miss--what was that name?"
"Florence for short," the girl smiled.
"Give Florence another piece of pie," he finished.
"You see--" he launched into his subject at once. "I don't ask you whatyour dreams are, then tell you 'You have dreamed of an eagle; that is agood sign; you will advance,' or 'You dreamed of being married; that isbad; you will become seriously ill, or shall have bad news from afar.'No, I don't say that. All that is nonsense!
"What I do say is that dreams tell something of your inner life. If theyare carefully studied, they may help you to a better understanding ofyourself."
"Interesting, if true." Florence took a generous bit from her secondsmall pie. "But it's all too deep for me."
"I'll explain." The young student appeared very much in earnest. "Takethis case: a woman dreamed of seeing an elephant balancing himself on abig balloon and sailing through the sky. Suddenly the balloon blew up,the elephant collapsed, and the woman wakened from her dream. What causedthat dream?" he asked, wrinkling his brow. "The woman had seen bothelephants and balloons, but not recently. Truth is, the balloon and theelephant were symbols of other things.
"When a dream interpreter questioned her, he found that she lived in alarge, badly furnished house which she hated. All but unconsciously shehad wished that the house would collapse or blow up. The collapse of theelephant symbolized the destruction of the house."
"And s-so," Florence drawled, "she had the old house blown up."
"No, that wasn't the answer!" the youthful psychologist protested. "Thething that needed changing was her own mental attitude. The way to fitour surroundings to our desires is often to change rather than destroythem. She had the house remodeled and refurnished. And now," he addedwith a touch of pride, "she is happy. And all because of the properinterpretation of her dream."
"Marvelous!" There was a mixed note of mockery and enthusiasm in thegirl's tone. "And now, here's one for you. I too dreamed of anelephant--that was night before last. I was in a jungle. The jungleseemed fairly familiar to me. I was passing along a narrow trail. Therewere other trails, but I seemed to know my way. Yet I was afraid,terribly afraid. The surprising thing was, I couldn't see a living thing,not a bird, a bat, or even a mouse.
"And then--" she drew a long breath. "Then in my dream I heard a terriblesnorting and crashing. And, right in my path there appeared an immenseelephant with flaming eyes, eyes of fire. _Fire._
"Fire!" She fairly gasped at the apparent revelation of her own words."Fire destroys all," she murmured low.
"And then?" her new-found friend prompted.
"And then," Florence laughed with a feeling of relief. "Then I woke up tofind the sun streaming in at my window. And, of course," she added, "itwas that bright sun shining on my face that caused the dream."
"I'm not so sure about that," said the student. His tone was serious. "Ihave a feeling that you are in some sort of real danger. I am surprised,now that I recall it, that I did not see the elephant, or whatever hesymbolized, coming down that rope after you. You--you wouldn't like totell me?" He hesitated.
"N-not now." Florence slid from her stool. "Perhaps some other time."
"O. K. Fine! I'm greatly interested."
"So--so am I." These words slipped unbidden from her lips.
"Here's my card." He thrust a square of pasteboard in her hand.
"Thanks for the pie!" They were at the door.
"Oh, that's more than all right. Remember--" his hand was on her arm foran instant. "Don't forget, if you need me to interpret a dream, orfor--for--"
"Another piece of pie," she laughed.
"Sure! Just anything," he laughed back, "just give me a ring."
"By the way!" Florence said with sudden impulse, "there _is_ something.Can you help people recall, make them think back, back into their pastuntil they at last remember something that may be of great help to them?"
"I've done it at times quite successfully."
"Then I'd like to arrange something, perhaps for tomorrow or the nextday. I--I'll give you a ring."
"I'll be waiting."
"Good-bye."
"Good-bye."
He was gone. Florence felt better. In this great city she had found onemore substantial friend. In times like these friendships counted for agreat deal.
There come periods in all our lives when life moves so swiftly thatthings which, perhaps, should be done are left undone. It had been sowith Florence. As, a short time later, she found time for repose in thestudio under the eaves of a skyscraper, she wondered if she should nothave called the police and had that tenth story haunt of Madame Zaran andthe Professor raided.
"And after that--what?" she asked herself. To this question she found noanswer. The police might tell her she had been seized with a plain caseof jitters. Truth was, not a person in that room had touched her. MadameZaran had indulged in a fit of passion--that was about all.
"Besides--" she settled back in her chair. "It is not yet time. There arethings I want to know. How was it that I saw real moving figures in thatcrystal ball? How much of Madame Zaran's work is pure show? How much isreal? I must know. And, meantime, I must do what I can for June Travis."With that she went away to the land of dreams.