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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/29193-h.zip b/29193-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..988c51a --- /dev/null +++ b/29193-h.zip diff --git a/29193-h/29193-h.htm b/29193-h/29193-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6a98649 --- /dev/null +++ b/29193-h/29193-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1547 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Dream Town, by Henry Slesar + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + + p {margin-top: .75em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: .75em;} + h1,h2 {text-align: right; font-weight: normal; line-height: 2em;} + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .trn {border: solid 1px; margin: 3em 15%; padding: 1em; text-align: justify;} + .dcap {text-transform: uppercase;} + .bk1 {margin: 1em auto 3em; border-top: solid 2px; border-bottom: solid 2px;} + .bk2 {float: left; width: 15em; margin: 1em 2em 1em 0;} + .pr1 {line-height: 1.5em; margin-top: 4em;} + hr {width: 45%; margin: 1em auto; visibility: hidden;} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Dream Town, by Henry Slesar + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Dream Town + +Author: Henry Slesar + +Release Date: June 21, 2009 [EBook #29193] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DREAM TOWN *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="bk1"><p><i><small>Henry Slesar, young New York advertising executive and by now no +longer a new-comer to either this magazine or to this field, describes +a strange little town that you, yourself, may blunder into one of these +evenings. But, if you do, beware—beware of the Knights!</small></i></p></div> + +<div class="bk2"><h1><b>dream<br /> +town</b></h1> + +<h2><small><i>by ... HENRY SLESAR</i></small></h2> + +<p class="pr1"><big><b>The woman in the doorway looked so harmless. Who +was to tell she had some rather startling interests?</b></big></p></div> + +<p><span class="dcap">The</span> woman in the +doorway looked like Mom in +the homier political cartoons. +She was plump, apple-cheeked, +white-haired. She +wore a fussy, old-fashioned +nightgown, and was busily +clutching a worn house-robe +around her expansive middle. +She blinked at Sol Becker's +rain-flattened hair and hang-dog +expression, and said: +"What is it? What do you +want?"</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry—" Sol's voice +was pained. "The man in the +diner said you might put me +up. I had my car stolen: a +hitchhiker; going to Salinas ..." +He was puffing.</p> + +<p>"Hitchhiker? I don't understand." +She clucked at the +sight of the pool of water he +was creating in her foyer. +"Well, come inside, for heaven's +sake. You're soaking!"</p> + +<p>"Thanks," Sol said gratefully.</p> + +<p>With the door firmly shut +behind him, the warm interior +of the little house covered +him like a blanket. He +shivered, and let the warmth +seep over him. "I'm terribly +sorry. I know how late it is." +He looked at his watch, but +the face was too misty to +make out the hour.</p> + +<p>"Must be nearly three," the +woman sniffed. "You couldn't +have come at a worse time. I +was just on my way to +court—"</p> + +<p>The words slid by him. "If +I could just stay overnight. +Until the morning. I could +call some friends in San Fernando. +I'm very susceptible to +head colds," he added inanely.</p> + +<p>"Well, take those shoes off, +first," the woman grumbled. +"You can undress in the parlor, +if you'll keep off the rug. +You won't mind using the +sofa?"</p> + +<p>"No, of course not. I'd be +happy to pay—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, tush, nobody's asking +you to pay. This isn't a hotel. +You mind if I go back upstairs? +They're gonna miss +me at the palace."</p> + +<p>"No, of course not," Sol +said. He followed her into +the darkened parlor, and +watched as she turned the +screw on a hurricane-style +lamp, shedding a yellow pool +of light over half a flowery +sofa and a doily-covered wing +chair. "You go on up. I'll be +perfectly fine."</p> + +<p>"Guess you can use a towel, +though. I'll get you one, +then I'm going up. We wake +pretty early in this house. +Breakfast's at seven; you'll +have to be up if you want +any."</p> + +<p>"I really can't thank you +enough—"</p> + +<p>"Tush," the woman said. +She scurried out, and returned +a moment later with a +thick bath towel. "Sorry I +can't give you any bedding. +But you'll find it nice and +warm in here." She squinted +at the dim face of a ship's-wheel +clock on the mantle, +and made a noise with her +tongue. "Three-thirty!" she +exclaimed. "I'll miss the +whole execution ..."</p> + +<p>"The what?"</p> + +<p>"Goodnight, young man," +Mom said firmly.</p> + +<p>She padded off, leaving Sol +holding the towel. He patted +his face, and then scrubbed +the wet tangle of brown hair. +Carefully, he stepped off the +carpet and onto the stone +floor in front of the fireplace. +He removed his +drenched coat and suit jacket, +and squeezed water out +over the ashes.</p> + +<p>He stripped down to his +underwear, wondering about +next morning's possible embarrassment, +and decided to +use the damp bath towel as a +blanket. The sofa was downy +and comfortable. He curled +up under the towel, shivered +once, and closed his eyes.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="dcap">He</span> was tired and very +sleepy, and his customary +nightly review was limited to +a few detached thoughts +about the wedding he was +supposed to attend in Salinas +that weekend ... the hoodlum +who had responded to his +good-nature by dumping him +out of his own car ... the slogging +walk to the village ... +the little round woman who +was hurrying off, like the +White Rabbit, to some mysterious +appointment on the +upper floor ...</p> + +<p>Then he went to sleep.</p> + +<p>A voice awoke him, shrill +and questioning.</p> + +<p>"Are you <i>nakkid</i>?"</p> + +<p>His eyes flew open, and he +pulled the towel protectively +around his body and glared +at the little girl with the rust-red +pigtails.</p> + +<p>"Huh, mister?" she said, +pushing a finger against her +freckled nose. "Are you?"</p> + +<p>"No," he said angrily. "I'm +not naked. Will you please +go away?"</p> + +<p>"Sally!" It was Mom, appearing +in the doorway of the +parlor. "You leave the gentleman +alone." She went off +again.</p> + +<p>"Yes," Sol said. "Please let +me get dressed. If you don't +mind." The girl didn't move. +"What time is it?"</p> + +<p>"Dunno," Sally shrugged. +"I like poached eggs. They're +my favorite eggs in the whole +world."</p> + +<p>"That's good," Sol said desperately. +"Now why don't you +be a good girl and eat your +poached eggs. In the kitchen."</p> + +<p>"Ain't ready yet. You going +to stay for breakfast?"</p> + +<p>"I'm not going to do anything +until you get out of +here."</p> + +<p>She put the end of a pigtail +in her mouth and sat down on +the chair opposite. "I went to +the palace last night. They +had an exelution."</p> + +<p>"Please," Sol groaned. "Be +a good girl, Sally. If you let +me get dressed, I'll show you +how to take your thumb off."</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's an old trick. Did +you ever see an exelution?"</p> + +<p>"No. Did you ever see a little +girl with her hide +tanned?"</p> + +<p>"Huh?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Sally!</i>" Mom again, sterner. +"You get out of there, or +you-know-what ..."</p> + +<p>"Okay," the girl said +blithely. "I'm goin' to the palace +again. If I brush my +teeth. Aren't you <i>ever</i> gonna +get up?" She skipped out of +the room, and Sol hastily sat +up and reached for his +trousers.</p> + +<p>When he had dressed, the +clothes still damp and unpleasant +against his skin, he +went out of the parlor and +found the kitchen. Mom was +busy at the stove. He said: +"Good morning."</p> + +<p>"Breakfast in ten minutes," +she said cheerfully. "You like +poached eggs?"</p> + +<p>"Sure. Do you have a telephone?"</p> + +<p>"In the hallway. Party line, +so you may have to wait."</p> + +<p>He tried for fifteen minutes +to get through, but there +was a woman on the line who +was terribly upset about a +cotton dress she had ordered +from Sears, and was telling +the world about it.</p> + +<p>Finally, he got his call +through to Salinas, and a +sleepy-voiced Fred, his old +Army buddy, listened somewhat +indifferently to his tale +of woe. "I might miss the +wedding," Sol said unhappily. +"I'm awfully sorry." Fred +didn't seem to be half as sorry +as he was. When Sol hung +up, he was feeling more despondent +than ever.</p> + +<p>A man, tall and rangy, with +a bobbing Adam's apple and +a lined face, came into the +hallway. "Hullo?" he said inquiringly. +"You the fella had +the car stolen?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>The man scratched his ear. +"Take you over to Sheriff +Coogan after breakfast. He'll +let the Stateys know about it. +My name's Dawes."</p> + +<p>Sol accepted a careful +handshake.</p> + +<p>"Don't get many people +comin' into town," Dawes +said, looking at him curiously. +"Ain't seen a stranger in +years. But you look like the +rest of us." He chuckled.</p> + +<p>Mom called out: "Breakfast!"</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="dcap">At</span> the table, Dawes +asked his destination.</p> + +<p>"Wedding in Salinas," he +explained. "Old Army friend +of mine. I picked this hitchhiker +up about two miles from +here. He <i>seemed</i> okay."</p> + +<p>"Never can tell," Dawes +said placidly, munching egg. +"Hey, Ma. That why you +were so late comin' to court +last night?"</p> + +<p>"That's right, Pa." She +poured the blackest coffee +Sol had ever seen. "Didn't +miss much, though."</p> + +<p>"What court is that?" Sol +asked politely, his mouth full.</p> + +<p>"Umagum," Sally said, a +piece of toast sticking out +from the side of her mouth. +"Don't you know <i>nothin'</i>?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Arma</i>gon," Dawes corrected. +He looked sheepishly at +the stranger. "Don't expect +Mister—" He cocked an eyebrow. +"What's the name?"</p> + +<p>"Becker."</p> + +<p>"Don't expect Mr. Becker +knows anything about Armagon. +It's just a dream, you +know." He smiled apologetically.</p> + +<p>"Dream? You mean this—Armagon +is a place you dream +about?"</p> + +<p>"Yep," Dawes said. He lifted +cup to lip. "Great coffee, +Ma." He leaned back with a +contented sigh. "Dream about +it every night. Got so used to +the place, I get all confused +in the daytime."</p> + +<p>Mom said: "I get muddle-headed +too, sometimes."</p> + +<p>"You mean—" Sol put his +napkin in his lap. "You mean +<i>you</i> dream about the same +place?"</p> + +<p>"Sure," Sally piped. "We +all go there at night. I'm goin' +to the palace again, too."</p> + +<p>"If you brush your teeth," +Mom said primly.</p> + +<p>"If I brush my teeth. Boy, +you shoulda seen the exelution!"</p> + +<p>"Execution," her father +said.</p> + +<p>"Oh, my goodness!" Mom +got up hastily. "That reminds +me. I gotta call poor Mrs. +Brundage. It's the <i>least</i> I +could do."</p> + +<p>"Good idea," Dawes nodded. +"And I'll have to round +up some folks and get old +Brundage out of there."</p> + +<p>Sol was staring. He opened +his mouth, but couldn't think +of the right question to ask. +Then he blurted out: "What +execution?"</p> + +<p>"None of <i>your</i> business," +the man said coldly. "You eat +up, young man. If you want +me to get Sheriff Coogan +lookin' for your car."</p> + +<p>The rest of the meal went +silently, except for Sally's insistence +upon singing her +school song between mouthfuls. +When Dawes was +through, he pushed back his +plate and ordered Sol to get +ready.</p> + +<p>Sol grabbed his topcoat and +followed the man out the +door.</p> + +<p>"Have to stop someplace +first," Dawes said. "But we'll +be pickin' up the Sheriff on +the way. Okay with you?"</p> + +<p>"Fine," Sol said uneasily.</p> + +<p>The rain had stopped, but +the heavy clouds seemed reluctant +to leave the skies over +the small town. There was a +skittish breeze blowing, and +Sol Becker tightened the collar +of his coat around his +neck as he tried to keep up +with the fast-stepping Dawes.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="dcap">They</span> crossed the +street diagonally, and entered +a two-story wooden building. +Dawes took the stairs at a +brisk pace, and pushed open +the door on the second floor. +A fat man looked up from +behind a desk.</p> + +<p>"Hi, Charlie. Thought I'd +see if you wanted to help +move Brundage."</p> + +<p>The man batted his eyes. +"Oh, Brundage!" he said. +"You know, I clean forgot +about him?" He laughed. +"Imagine me forgetting +that?"</p> + +<p>"Yeah." Dawes wasn't +amused. "And you Prince Regent."</p> + +<p>"Aw, Willie—"</p> + +<p>"Well, come on. Stir that +fat carcass. Gotta pick up +Sheriff Coogan, too. This +here gentleman has to see him +about somethin' else."</p> + +<p>The man regarded Sol suspiciously. +"Never seen you +before. Night <i>or</i> day. Stranger?"</p> + +<p>"Come <i>on</i>!" Dawes said.</p> + +<p>The fat man grunted and +hoisted himself out of the +swivel chair. He followed +lamely behind the two men +as they went out into the +street again.</p> + +<p>A woman, with an empty +market basket, nodded casually +to them. "Mornin', folks. +Enjoyed it last night. +Thought you made a right +nice speech, Mr. Dawes."</p> + +<p>"Thanks," Dawes answered +gruffly, but obviously flattered. +"We were just goin' +over to Brundage's to pick up +the body. Ma's gonna pay a +call on Mrs. Brundage around +ten o'clock. You care to visit?"</p> + +<p>"Why, I think that's very +nice," the woman said. "I'll +be sure and do that." She +smiled at the fat man. "Mornin', +Prince."</p> + +<p>Sol's head was spinning. As +they left the woman and continued +their determined +march down the quiet street, +he tried to find answers.</p> + +<p>"Look, Mr. Dawes." He was +panting; the pace was fast. +"Does <i>she</i> dream about this—Armagon, +too? That woman +back there?"</p> + +<p>"Yep."</p> + +<p>Charlie chuckled. "He's a +stranger, all right."</p> + +<p>"And you, Mr.—" Sol +turned to the fat man. "You +also know about this palace +and everything?"</p> + +<p>"I told you," Dawes said +testily. "Charlie here's Prince +Regent. But don't let the fancy +title fool you. He got no +more power than any Knight +of the Realm. He's just too +dern fat to do much more'n +sit on a throne and eat grapes. +That right, Charlie?"</p> + +<p>The fat man giggled.</p> + +<p>"Here's the Sheriff," Dawes +said.</p> + +<p>The Sheriff, a sleepy-eyed +citizen with a long, sad face, +was rocking on a porch as +they approached his house, +trying to puff a half-lit pipe. +He lifted one hand wearily +when he saw them.</p> + +<p>"Hi, Cookie," Dawes +grinned. "Thought you, me, +and Charlie would get Brundage's +body outa the house. +This here's Mr. Becker; he +got another problem. Mr. +Becker, meet Cookie Coogan."</p> + +<p>The Sheriff joined the procession, +pausing only once to +inquire into Sol's predicament.</p> + +<p>He described the hitchhiker +incident, but Coogan +listened stoically. He murmured +something about the +Troopers, and shuffled alongside +the puffing fat man.</p> + +<p>Sol soon realized that their +destination was a barber shop.</p> + +<p>Dawes cupped his hands +over the plate glass and +peered inside. Gold letters on +the glass advertised: HAIRCUT +SHAVE & MASSAGE +PARLOR. He reported: "Nobody +in the shop. Must be +upstairs."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="dcap">The</span> fat man rang the +bell. It was a while before an +answer came.</p> + +<p>It was a reedy woman in a +housecoat, her hair in curlers, +her eyes red and swollen.</p> + +<p>"Now, now," Dawes said +gently. "Don't you take on +like that, Mrs. Brundage. You +heard the charges. It hadda +be this way."</p> + +<p>"My poor Vincent," she +sobbed.</p> + +<p>"Better let us up," the +Sheriff said kindly. "No use +just lettin' him lay there, +Mrs. Brundage."</p> + +<p>"He didn't mean no harm," +the woman snuffled. "He was +just purely ornery, Vincent +was. Just plain mean stubborn."</p> + +<p>"The law's the law," the +fat man sighed.</p> + +<p>Sol couldn't hold himself +in.</p> + +<p>"What law? Who's dead? +How did it happen?"</p> + +<p>Dawes looked at him disgustedly. +"Now is it any of +<i>your</i> business? I mean, is it?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," Sol said +miserably.</p> + +<p>"You better stay out of +this," the Sheriff warned. +"This is a local matter, young +man. You better stay in the +shop while we go up."</p> + +<p>They filed past him and the +crying Mrs. Brundage.</p> + +<p>When they were out of +sight, Sol pleaded with her.</p> + +<p>"What happened? How did +your husband die?"</p> + +<p>"Please ..."</p> + +<p>"You must tell me! Was it +something to do with Armagon? +Do you dream about the +place, too?"</p> + +<p>She was shocked at the +question. "Of course!"</p> + +<p>"And your husband? Did +he have the same dream?"</p> + +<p>Fresh tears resulted. "Can't +you leave me alone?" She +turned her back. "I got things +to do. You can make yourself +comfortable—" She indicated +the barber chairs, and left +through the back door.</p> + +<p>Sol looked after her, and +then ambled over to the first +chair and slipped into the +high seat. His reflection in +the mirror, strangely gray in +the dim light, made him +groan. His clothes were a +mess, and he needed a shave. +If only Brundage had been +alive ...</p> + +<p>He leaped out of the chair +as voices sounded behind the +door. Dawes was kicking it +open with his foot, his arms +laden with two rather large +feet, still encased in bedroom +slippers. Charlie was at the +other end of the burden, +which appeared to be a middle-aged +man in pajamas. The +Sheriff followed the trio up +with a sad, undertaker expression. +Behind him came Mrs. +Brundage, properly weeping.</p> + +<p>"We'll take him to the funeral +parlor," Dawes said, +breathing hard. "Weighs a +ton, don't he?"</p> + +<p>"What killed him?" Sol +said.</p> + +<p>"Heart attack."</p> + +<p>The fat man chuckled.</p> + +<p>The tableau was grisly. Sol +looked away, towards the +comfortingly mundane atmosphere +of the barber shop. But +even the sight of the thick-padded +chairs, the shaving +mugs on the wall, the neat +rows of cutting instruments, +seemed grotesque and morbid.</p> + +<p>"Listen," Sol said, as they +went through the doorway. +"About my car—"</p> + +<p>The Sheriff turned and regarded +him lugubriously. +"Your <i>car</i>? Young man, ain't +you got no <i>respect</i>?"</p> + +<p>Sol swallowed hard and fell +silent. He went outside with +them, the woman slamming +the barber-shop door behind +him. He waited in front of +the building while the men +toted away the corpse to some +new destination.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="dcap">He</span> took a walk.</p> + +<p>The town was just coming +to life. People were strolling +out of their houses, commenting +on the weather, chuckling +amiably about local affairs. +Kids on bicycles were beginning +to appear, jangling the +little bells and hooting to +each other. A woman, hanging +wash in the back yard, +called out to him, thinking +he was somebody else.</p> + +<p>He found a little park, no +more than twenty yards in +circumference, centered +around a weatherbeaten monument +of some unrecognizable +military figure. Three +old men took their places on +the bench that circled the +General, and leaned on their +canes.</p> + +<p>Sol was a civil engineer. +But he made like a reporter.</p> + +<p>"Pardon me, sir." The old +man, leathery-faced, with a +fine yellow moustache, looked +at him dumbly. "Have you +ever heard of Armagon?"</p> + +<p>"You a stranger?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Thought so."</p> + +<p>Sol repeated the question.</p> + +<p>"Course I did. Been goin' +there ever since I was a kid. +Night-times, that is."</p> + +<p>"How—I mean, what kind +of place is it?"</p> + +<p>"Said you're a stranger?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Then 'tain't your business."</p> + +<p>That was that.</p> + +<p>He left the park, and wandered +into a thriving luncheonette. +He tried questioning +the man behind the counter, +who merely snickered and +said: "You stayin' with the +Dawes, ain't you? Better ask +Willie, then. He knows the +place better than anybody."</p> + +<p>He asked about the execution, +and the man stiffened.</p> + +<p>"Don't think I can talk +about that. Fella broke one of +the Laws; that's about it. +Don't see where you come +into it."</p> + +<p>At eleven o'clock, he returned +to the Dawes residence, +and found Mom in the +kitchen, surrounded by the +warm nostalgic odor of home-baked +bread. She told him +that her husband had left a +message for the stranger, informing +him that the State +Police would be around to get +his story.</p> + +<p>He waited in the house, +gloomily turning the pages of +the local newspaper, searching +for references to Armagon. +He found nothing.</p> + +<p>At eleven-thirty, a brown-faced +State Trooper came to +call, and Sol told his story. +He was promised nothing, +and told to stay in town until +he was contacted again by +the authorities.</p> + +<p>Mom fixed him a light +lunch, the greatest feature of +which was some hot biscuits +she plucked out of the oven. +It made him feel almost normal.</p> + +<p>He wandered around the +town some more after lunch, +trying to spark conversation +with the residents.</p> + +<p>He learned little.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="dcap">At</span> five-thirty, he returned +to the Dawes house, and was +promptly leaped upon by +little Sally.</p> + +<p>"Hi! Hi! Hi!" she said, +clutching his right leg and +almost toppling him over. +"We had a party in school. I +had chocolate cake. You goin' +to stay with us?"</p> + +<p>"Just another night," Sol +told her, trying to shake the +girl off. "If it's okay with +your folks. They haven't +found my car yet."</p> + +<p>"Sally!" Mom was peering +out of the screen door. "You +let Mr. Becker alone and go +wash. Your Pa will be home +soon."</p> + +<p>"Oh, pooh," the girl said, +her pigtails swinging. "Do +you got a girlfriend, mister?"</p> + +<p>"No." Sol struggled towards +the house with her +dead weight on his leg. +"Would you mind? I can't +walk."</p> + +<p>"Would you be my boyfriend?"</p> + +<p>"Well, we'll talk about it. +If you let go my leg."</p> + +<p>Inside the house, she said: +"We're having pot roast. You +stayin'?"</p> + +<p>"Of course Mr. Becker's +stayin'," Mom said. "He's our +guest."</p> + +<p>"That's very kind of you," +Sol said. "I really wish you'd +let me pay something—"</p> + +<p>"Don't want to hear another +word about pay."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="dcap">Mr. Dawes</span> came home an +hour later, looking tired. +Mom pecked him lightly on +the forehead. He glanced at +the evening paper, and then +spoke to Sol.</p> + +<p>"Hear you been asking +questions, Mr. Becker."</p> + +<p>Sol nodded, embarrassed. +"Guess I have. I'm awfully +curious about this Armagon +place. Never heard of anything +like it before."</p> + +<p>Dawes grunted. "You ain't +a reporter?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no. I'm an engineer. I +was just satisfying my own +curiosity."</p> + +<p>"Uh-huh." Dawes looked +reflective. "You wouldn't be +thinkin' about writing us up +or anything. I mean, this is a +pretty private affair."</p> + +<p>"Writing it up?" Sol +blinked. "I hadn't thought of +it. But you'll have to admit—it's +sure interesting."</p> + +<p>"Yeah," Dawes said narrowly. +"I guess it would be."</p> + +<p>"Supper!" Mom called.</p> + +<p>After the meal, they spent +a quiet evening at home. Sally +went to bed, screaming her +reluctance, at eight-thirty. +Mom, dozing in the big chair +near the fireplace, padded upstairs +at nine. Then Dawes +yawned widely, stood up, and +said goodnight at quarter-of-ten.</p> + +<p>He paused in the doorway +before leaving.</p> + +<p>"I'd think about that," he +said. "Writing it up, I mean. +A lot of folks would think +you were just plum crazy."</p> + +<p>Sol laughed feebly. "I +guess they would at that."</p> + +<p>"Goodnight," Dawes said.</p> + +<p>"Goodnight."</p> + +<p>He read Sally's copy of +<i>Treasure Island</i> for about +half an hour. Then he undressed, +made himself comfortable +on the sofa, snuggled +under the soft blanket +that Mom had provided, and +shut his eyes.</p> + +<p>He reviewed the events of +the day before dropping off +to sleep. The troublesome +Sally. The strange dream +world of Armagon. The visit +to the barber shop. The removal +of Brundage's body. +The conversations with the +townspeople. Dawes' suspicious +attitude ...</p> + +<p>Then sleep came.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class="dcap">He</span> was flanked by marble +pillars, thrusting towards +a high-domed ceiling.</p> + +<p>The room stretched long +and wide before him, the +walls bedecked in stunning +purple draperies.</p> + +<p>He whirled at the sound of +footsteps, echoing stridently +on the stone floor. Someone +was running towards him.</p> + +<p>It was Sally, pigtails +streaming out behind her, the +small body wearing a flowing +white toga. She was shrieking, +laughing as she skittered +past him, clutching a gleaming +gold helmet.</p> + +<p>He called out to her, but +she was too busy outdistancing +her pursuer. It was Sheriff +Coogan, puffing and huffing, +the metal-and-gold cloth +uniform ludicrous on his +lanky frame.</p> + +<p>"Consarn kid!" he wheezed. +"Gimme my hat!"</p> + +<p>Mom was following him, +her stout body regal in scarlet +robes. "Sally! You give +Sir Coogan his helmet! You +hear?"</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Dawes!" Sol said.</p> + +<p>"Why, Mr. Becker! How +nice to see you again! Pa! +<i>Pa!</i> Look who's here!"</p> + +<p>Willie Dawes appeared. +<i>No!</i> Sol thought. This was +<i>King</i> Dawes; nothing else +could explain the magnificence +of his attire.</p> + +<p>"Yes," Dawes said craftily. +"So I see. Welcome to Armagon, +Mr. Becker."</p> + +<p>"Armagon?" Sol gaped. +"Then this is the place +you've been dreaming about?"</p> + +<p>"Yep," the King said. "And +now <i>you're</i> in it, too."</p> + +<p>"Then I'm only dreaming!"</p> + +<p>Charlie, the fat man, +clumsy as ever in his robes of +State, said: "So <i>that's</i> the +snooper, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Yep," Dawes chuckled. +"Think you better round up +the Knights."</p> + +<p>Sol said: "The Knights?"</p> + +<p>"Exelution! Exelution!" +Sally shrieked.</p> + +<p>"Now wait a minute—"</p> + +<p>Charlie shouted.</p> + +<p>Running feet, clanking of +armor. Sol backed up against +a pillar. "Now look here. +You've gone far enough—"</p> + +<p>"Not quite," said the King.</p> + +<p>The Knights stepped forward.</p> + +<p>"Wait!" Sol screamed.</p> + +<p>Familiar faces, under shining +helmets, moved towards +him; the tips of sharp-pointed +spears gleaming wickedly. +And Sol Becker wondered—would +he ever awake?</p> + +<div class="trn"><b>Transcriber's Note:</b> +This etext was produced from <i>Fantastic Universe</i> January 1957. +Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. +copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and +typographical errors have been corrected without note.</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Dream Town, by Henry Slesar + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DREAM TOWN *** + +***** This file should be named 29193-h.htm or 29193-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/1/9/29193/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Dream Town + +Author: Henry Slesar + +Release Date: June 21, 2009 [EBook #29193] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DREAM TOWN *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + _Henry Slesar, young New York advertising executive and by now no + longer a new-comer to either this magazine or to this field, + describes a strange little town that you, yourself, may blunder into + one of these evenings. But, if you do, beware--beware of the + Knights!_ + + + dream + town + + _by ... HENRY SLESAR_ + + + The woman in the doorway looked so harmless. Who + was to tell she had some rather startling interests? + + +The woman in the doorway looked like Mom in the homier political +cartoons. She was plump, apple-cheeked, white-haired. She wore a fussy, +old-fashioned nightgown, and was busily clutching a worn house-robe +around her expansive middle. She blinked at Sol Becker's rain-flattened +hair and hang-dog expression, and said: "What is it? What do you want?" + +"I'm sorry--" Sol's voice was pained. "The man in the diner said +you might put me up. I had my car stolen: a hitchhiker; going to +Salinas ..." He was puffing. + +"Hitchhiker? I don't understand." She clucked at the sight of the pool +of water he was creating in her foyer. "Well, come inside, for heaven's +sake. You're soaking!" + +"Thanks," Sol said gratefully. + +With the door firmly shut behind him, the warm interior of the little +house covered him like a blanket. He shivered, and let the warmth seep +over him. "I'm terribly sorry. I know how late it is." He looked at his +watch, but the face was too misty to make out the hour. + +"Must be nearly three," the woman sniffed. "You couldn't have come at a +worse time. I was just on my way to court--" + +The words slid by him. "If I could just stay overnight. Until the +morning. I could call some friends in San Fernando. I'm very susceptible +to head colds," he added inanely. + +"Well, take those shoes off, first," the woman grumbled. "You can +undress in the parlor, if you'll keep off the rug. You won't mind using +the sofa?" + +"No, of course not. I'd be happy to pay--" + +"Oh, tush, nobody's asking you to pay. This isn't a hotel. You mind if I +go back upstairs? They're gonna miss me at the palace." + +"No, of course not," Sol said. He followed her into the darkened parlor, +and watched as she turned the screw on a hurricane-style lamp, shedding +a yellow pool of light over half a flowery sofa and a doily-covered wing +chair. "You go on up. I'll be perfectly fine." + +"Guess you can use a towel, though. I'll get you one, then I'm going up. +We wake pretty early in this house. Breakfast's at seven; you'll have to +be up if you want any." + +"I really can't thank you enough--" + +"Tush," the woman said. She scurried out, and returned a moment later +with a thick bath towel. "Sorry I can't give you any bedding. But you'll +find it nice and warm in here." She squinted at the dim face of a +ship's-wheel clock on the mantle, and made a noise with her tongue. +"Three-thirty!" she exclaimed. "I'll miss the whole execution ..." + +"The what?" + +"Goodnight, young man," Mom said firmly. + +She padded off, leaving Sol holding the towel. He patted his face, and +then scrubbed the wet tangle of brown hair. Carefully, he stepped off +the carpet and onto the stone floor in front of the fireplace. He +removed his drenched coat and suit jacket, and squeezed water out over +the ashes. + +He stripped down to his underwear, wondering about next morning's +possible embarrassment, and decided to use the damp bath towel as a +blanket. The sofa was downy and comfortable. He curled up under the +towel, shivered once, and closed his eyes. + + * * * * * + +He was tired and very sleepy, and his customary nightly review was +limited to a few detached thoughts about the wedding he was supposed to +attend in Salinas that weekend ... the hoodlum who had responded to his +good-nature by dumping him out of his own car ... the slogging walk to +the village ... the little round woman who was hurrying off, like the +White Rabbit, to some mysterious appointment on the upper floor ... + +Then he went to sleep. + +A voice awoke him, shrill and questioning. + +"Are you _nakkid_?" + +His eyes flew open, and he pulled the towel protectively around his body +and glared at the little girl with the rust-red pigtails. + +"Huh, mister?" she said, pushing a finger against her freckled nose. +"Are you?" + +"No," he said angrily. "I'm not naked. Will you please go away?" + +"Sally!" It was Mom, appearing in the doorway of the parlor. "You leave +the gentleman alone." She went off again. + +"Yes," Sol said. "Please let me get dressed. If you don't mind." The +girl didn't move. "What time is it?" + +"Dunno," Sally shrugged. "I like poached eggs. They're my favorite eggs +in the whole world." + +"That's good," Sol said desperately. "Now why don't you be a good girl +and eat your poached eggs. In the kitchen." + +"Ain't ready yet. You going to stay for breakfast?" + +"I'm not going to do anything until you get out of here." + +She put the end of a pigtail in her mouth and sat down on the chair +opposite. "I went to the palace last night. They had an exelution." + +"Please," Sol groaned. "Be a good girl, Sally. If you let me get +dressed, I'll show you how to take your thumb off." + +"Oh, that's an old trick. Did you ever see an exelution?" + +"No. Did you ever see a little girl with her hide tanned?" + +"Huh?" + +"_Sally!_" Mom again, sterner. "You get out of there, or +you-know-what ..." + +"Okay," the girl said blithely. "I'm goin' to the palace again. If I +brush my teeth. Aren't you _ever_ gonna get up?" She skipped out of the +room, and Sol hastily sat up and reached for his trousers. + +When he had dressed, the clothes still damp and unpleasant against his +skin, he went out of the parlor and found the kitchen. Mom was busy at +the stove. He said: "Good morning." + +"Breakfast in ten minutes," she said cheerfully. "You like poached +eggs?" + +"Sure. Do you have a telephone?" + +"In the hallway. Party line, so you may have to wait." + +He tried for fifteen minutes to get through, but there was a woman on +the line who was terribly upset about a cotton dress she had ordered +from Sears, and was telling the world about it. + +Finally, he got his call through to Salinas, and a sleepy-voiced Fred, +his old Army buddy, listened somewhat indifferently to his tale of woe. +"I might miss the wedding," Sol said unhappily. "I'm awfully sorry." +Fred didn't seem to be half as sorry as he was. When Sol hung up, he was +feeling more despondent than ever. + +A man, tall and rangy, with a bobbing Adam's apple and a lined face, +came into the hallway. "Hullo?" he said inquiringly. "You the fella had +the car stolen?" + +"Yes." + +The man scratched his ear. "Take you over to Sheriff Coogan after +breakfast. He'll let the Stateys know about it. My name's Dawes." + +Sol accepted a careful handshake. + +"Don't get many people comin' into town," Dawes said, looking at him +curiously. "Ain't seen a stranger in years. But you look like the rest +of us." He chuckled. + +Mom called out: "Breakfast!" + + * * * * * + +At the table, Dawes asked his destination. + +"Wedding in Salinas," he explained. "Old Army friend of mine. I picked +this hitchhiker up about two miles from here. He _seemed_ okay." + +"Never can tell," Dawes said placidly, munching egg. "Hey, Ma. That why +you were so late comin' to court last night?" + +"That's right, Pa." She poured the blackest coffee Sol had ever seen. +"Didn't miss much, though." + +"What court is that?" Sol asked politely, his mouth full. + +"Umagum," Sally said, a piece of toast sticking out from the side of her +mouth. "Don't you know _nothin'_?" + +"_Arma_gon," Dawes corrected. He looked sheepishly at the stranger. +"Don't expect Mister--" He cocked an eyebrow. "What's the name?" + +"Becker." + +"Don't expect Mr. Becker knows anything about Armagon. It's just a +dream, you know." He smiled apologetically. + +"Dream? You mean this--Armagon is a place you dream about?" + +"Yep," Dawes said. He lifted cup to lip. "Great coffee, Ma." He leaned +back with a contented sigh. "Dream about it every night. Got so used to +the place, I get all confused in the daytime." + +Mom said: "I get muddle-headed too, sometimes." + +"You mean--" Sol put his napkin in his lap. "You mean _you_ dream about +the same place?" + +"Sure," Sally piped. "We all go there at night. I'm goin' to the palace +again, too." + +"If you brush your teeth," Mom said primly. + +"If I brush my teeth. Boy, you shoulda seen the exelution!" + +"Execution," her father said. + +"Oh, my goodness!" Mom got up hastily. "That reminds me. I gotta call +poor Mrs. Brundage. It's the _least_ I could do." + +"Good idea," Dawes nodded. "And I'll have to round up some folks and get +old Brundage out of there." + +Sol was staring. He opened his mouth, but couldn't think of the right +question to ask. Then he blurted out: "What execution?" + +"None of _your_ business," the man said coldly. "You eat up, young man. +If you want me to get Sheriff Coogan lookin' for your car." + +The rest of the meal went silently, except for Sally's insistence upon +singing her school song between mouthfuls. When Dawes was through, he +pushed back his plate and ordered Sol to get ready. + +Sol grabbed his topcoat and followed the man out the door. + +"Have to stop someplace first," Dawes said. "But we'll be pickin' up the +Sheriff on the way. Okay with you?" + +"Fine," Sol said uneasily. + +The rain had stopped, but the heavy clouds seemed reluctant to leave the +skies over the small town. There was a skittish breeze blowing, and Sol +Becker tightened the collar of his coat around his neck as he tried to +keep up with the fast-stepping Dawes. + + * * * * * + +They crossed the street diagonally, and entered a two-story wooden +building. Dawes took the stairs at a brisk pace, and pushed open the +door on the second floor. A fat man looked up from behind a desk. + +"Hi, Charlie. Thought I'd see if you wanted to help move Brundage." + +The man batted his eyes. "Oh, Brundage!" he said. "You know, I clean +forgot about him?" He laughed. "Imagine me forgetting that?" + +"Yeah." Dawes wasn't amused. "And you Prince Regent." + +"Aw, Willie--" + +"Well, come on. Stir that fat carcass. Gotta pick up Sheriff Coogan, +too. This here gentleman has to see him about somethin' else." + +The man regarded Sol suspiciously. "Never seen you before. Night _or_ +day. Stranger?" + +"Come _on_!" Dawes said. + +The fat man grunted and hoisted himself out of the swivel chair. He +followed lamely behind the two men as they went out into the street +again. + +A woman, with an empty market basket, nodded casually to them. "Mornin', +folks. Enjoyed it last night. Thought you made a right nice speech, Mr. +Dawes." + +"Thanks," Dawes answered gruffly, but obviously flattered. "We were just +goin' over to Brundage's to pick up the body. Ma's gonna pay a call on +Mrs. Brundage around ten o'clock. You care to visit?" + +"Why, I think that's very nice," the woman said. "I'll be sure and do +that." She smiled at the fat man. "Mornin', Prince." + +Sol's head was spinning. As they left the woman and continued their +determined march down the quiet street, he tried to find answers. + +"Look, Mr. Dawes." He was panting; the pace was fast. "Does _she_ dream +about this--Armagon, too? That woman back there?" + +"Yep." + +Charlie chuckled. "He's a stranger, all right." + +"And you, Mr.--" Sol turned to the fat man. "You also know about this +palace and everything?" + +"I told you," Dawes said testily. "Charlie here's Prince Regent. But +don't let the fancy title fool you. He got no more power than any Knight +of the Realm. He's just too dern fat to do much more'n sit on a throne +and eat grapes. That right, Charlie?" + +The fat man giggled. + +"Here's the Sheriff," Dawes said. + +The Sheriff, a sleepy-eyed citizen with a long, sad face, was rocking on +a porch as they approached his house, trying to puff a half-lit pipe. He +lifted one hand wearily when he saw them. + +"Hi, Cookie," Dawes grinned. "Thought you, me, and Charlie would get +Brundage's body outa the house. This here's Mr. Becker; he got another +problem. Mr. Becker, meet Cookie Coogan." + +The Sheriff joined the procession, pausing only once to inquire into +Sol's predicament. + +He described the hitchhiker incident, but Coogan listened stoically. He +murmured something about the Troopers, and shuffled alongside the +puffing fat man. + +Sol soon realized that their destination was a barber shop. + +Dawes cupped his hands over the plate glass and peered inside. Gold +letters on the glass advertised: HAIRCUT SHAVE & MASSAGE PARLOR. He +reported: "Nobody in the shop. Must be upstairs." + + * * * * * + +The fat man rang the bell. It was a while before an answer came. + +It was a reedy woman in a housecoat, her hair in curlers, her eyes red +and swollen. + +"Now, now," Dawes said gently. "Don't you take on like that, Mrs. +Brundage. You heard the charges. It hadda be this way." + +"My poor Vincent," she sobbed. + +"Better let us up," the Sheriff said kindly. "No use just lettin' him +lay there, Mrs. Brundage." + +"He didn't mean no harm," the woman snuffled. "He was just purely +ornery, Vincent was. Just plain mean stubborn." + +"The law's the law," the fat man sighed. + +Sol couldn't hold himself in. + +"What law? Who's dead? How did it happen?" + +Dawes looked at him disgustedly. "Now is it any of _your_ business? I +mean, is it?" + +"I don't know," Sol said miserably. + +"You better stay out of this," the Sheriff warned. "This is a local +matter, young man. You better stay in the shop while we go up." + +They filed past him and the crying Mrs. Brundage. + +When they were out of sight, Sol pleaded with her. + +"What happened? How did your husband die?" + +"Please ..." + +"You must tell me! Was it something to do with Armagon? Do you dream +about the place, too?" + +She was shocked at the question. "Of course!" + +"And your husband? Did he have the same dream?" + +Fresh tears resulted. "Can't you leave me alone?" She turned her back. +"I got things to do. You can make yourself comfortable--" She indicated +the barber chairs, and left through the back door. + +Sol looked after her, and then ambled over to the first chair and +slipped into the high seat. His reflection in the mirror, strangely gray +in the dim light, made him groan. His clothes were a mess, and he needed +a shave. If only Brundage had been alive ... + +He leaped out of the chair as voices sounded behind the door. Dawes was +kicking it open with his foot, his arms laden with two rather large +feet, still encased in bedroom slippers. Charlie was at the other end of +the burden, which appeared to be a middle-aged man in pajamas. The +Sheriff followed the trio up with a sad, undertaker expression. Behind +him came Mrs. Brundage, properly weeping. + +"We'll take him to the funeral parlor," Dawes said, breathing hard. +"Weighs a ton, don't he?" + +"What killed him?" Sol said. + +"Heart attack." + +The fat man chuckled. + +The tableau was grisly. Sol looked away, towards the comfortingly +mundane atmosphere of the barber shop. But even the sight of the +thick-padded chairs, the shaving mugs on the wall, the neat rows of +cutting instruments, seemed grotesque and morbid. + +"Listen," Sol said, as they went through the doorway. "About my car--" + +The Sheriff turned and regarded him lugubriously. "Your _car_? Young +man, ain't you got no _respect_?" + +Sol swallowed hard and fell silent. He went outside with them, the woman +slamming the barber-shop door behind him. He waited in front of the +building while the men toted away the corpse to some new destination. + + * * * * * + +He took a walk. + +The town was just coming to life. People were strolling out of their +houses, commenting on the weather, chuckling amiably about local +affairs. Kids on bicycles were beginning to appear, jangling the little +bells and hooting to each other. A woman, hanging wash in the back yard, +called out to him, thinking he was somebody else. + +He found a little park, no more than twenty yards in circumference, +centered around a weatherbeaten monument of some unrecognizable military +figure. Three old men took their places on the bench that circled the +General, and leaned on their canes. + +Sol was a civil engineer. But he made like a reporter. + +"Pardon me, sir." The old man, leathery-faced, with a fine yellow +moustache, looked at him dumbly. "Have you ever heard of Armagon?" + +"You a stranger?" + +"Yes." + +"Thought so." + +Sol repeated the question. + +"Course I did. Been goin' there ever since I was a kid. Night-times, +that is." + +"How--I mean, what kind of place is it?" + +"Said you're a stranger?" + +"Yes." + +"Then 'tain't your business." + +That was that. + +He left the park, and wandered into a thriving luncheonette. He tried +questioning the man behind the counter, who merely snickered and said: +"You stayin' with the Dawes, ain't you? Better ask Willie, then. He +knows the place better than anybody." + +He asked about the execution, and the man stiffened. + +"Don't think I can talk about that. Fella broke one of the Laws; that's +about it. Don't see where you come into it." + +At eleven o'clock, he returned to the Dawes residence, and found Mom in +the kitchen, surrounded by the warm nostalgic odor of home-baked bread. +She told him that her husband had left a message for the stranger, +informing him that the State Police would be around to get his story. + +He waited in the house, gloomily turning the pages of the local +newspaper, searching for references to Armagon. He found nothing. + +At eleven-thirty, a brown-faced State Trooper came to call, and Sol told +his story. He was promised nothing, and told to stay in town until he +was contacted again by the authorities. + +Mom fixed him a light lunch, the greatest feature of which was some hot +biscuits she plucked out of the oven. It made him feel almost normal. + +He wandered around the town some more after lunch, trying to spark +conversation with the residents. + +He learned little. + + * * * * * + +At five-thirty, he returned to the Dawes house, and was promptly leaped +upon by little Sally. + +"Hi! Hi! Hi!" she said, clutching his right leg and almost toppling him +over. "We had a party in school. I had chocolate cake. You goin' to stay +with us?" + +"Just another night," Sol told her, trying to shake the girl off. "If +it's okay with your folks. They haven't found my car yet." + +"Sally!" Mom was peering out of the screen door. "You let Mr. Becker +alone and go wash. Your Pa will be home soon." + +"Oh, pooh," the girl said, her pigtails swinging. "Do you got a +girlfriend, mister?" + +"No." Sol struggled towards the house with her dead weight on his leg. +"Would you mind? I can't walk." + +"Would you be my boyfriend?" + +"Well, we'll talk about it. If you let go my leg." + +Inside the house, she said: "We're having pot roast. You stayin'?" + +"Of course Mr. Becker's stayin'," Mom said. "He's our guest." + +"That's very kind of you," Sol said. "I really wish you'd let me pay +something--" + +"Don't want to hear another word about pay." + + * * * * * + +Mr. Dawes came home an hour later, looking tired. Mom pecked him lightly +on the forehead. He glanced at the evening paper, and then spoke to Sol. + +"Hear you been asking questions, Mr. Becker." + +Sol nodded, embarrassed. "Guess I have. I'm awfully curious about this +Armagon place. Never heard of anything like it before." + +Dawes grunted. "You ain't a reporter?" + +"Oh, no. I'm an engineer. I was just satisfying my own curiosity." + +"Uh-huh." Dawes looked reflective. "You wouldn't be thinkin' about +writing us up or anything. I mean, this is a pretty private affair." + +"Writing it up?" Sol blinked. "I hadn't thought of it. But you'll have +to admit--it's sure interesting." + +"Yeah," Dawes said narrowly. "I guess it would be." + +"Supper!" Mom called. + +After the meal, they spent a quiet evening at home. Sally went to bed, +screaming her reluctance, at eight-thirty. Mom, dozing in the big chair +near the fireplace, padded upstairs at nine. Then Dawes yawned widely, +stood up, and said goodnight at quarter-of-ten. + +He paused in the doorway before leaving. + +"I'd think about that," he said. "Writing it up, I mean. A lot of folks +would think you were just plum crazy." + +Sol laughed feebly. "I guess they would at that." + +"Goodnight," Dawes said. + +"Goodnight." + +He read Sally's copy of _Treasure Island_ for about half an hour. Then +he undressed, made himself comfortable on the sofa, snuggled under the +soft blanket that Mom had provided, and shut his eyes. + +He reviewed the events of the day before dropping off to sleep. The +troublesome Sally. The strange dream world of Armagon. The visit to the +barber shop. The removal of Brundage's body. The conversations with the +townspeople. Dawes' suspicious attitude ... + +Then sleep came. + + * * * * * + +He was flanked by marble pillars, thrusting towards a high-domed +ceiling. + +The room stretched long and wide before him, the walls bedecked in +stunning purple draperies. + +He whirled at the sound of footsteps, echoing stridently on the stone +floor. Someone was running towards him. + +It was Sally, pigtails streaming out behind her, the small body wearing +a flowing white toga. She was shrieking, laughing as she skittered past +him, clutching a gleaming gold helmet. + +He called out to her, but she was too busy outdistancing her pursuer. It +was Sheriff Coogan, puffing and huffing, the metal-and-gold cloth +uniform ludicrous on his lanky frame. + +"Consarn kid!" he wheezed. "Gimme my hat!" + +Mom was following him, her stout body regal in scarlet robes. "Sally! +You give Sir Coogan his helmet! You hear?" + +"Mrs. Dawes!" Sol said. + +"Why, Mr. Becker! How nice to see you again! Pa! _Pa!_ Look who's here!" + +Willie Dawes appeared. _No!_ Sol thought. This was _King_ Dawes; nothing +else could explain the magnificence of his attire. + +"Yes," Dawes said craftily. "So I see. Welcome to Armagon, Mr. Becker." + +"Armagon?" Sol gaped. "Then this is the place you've been dreaming +about?" + +"Yep," the King said. "And now _you're_ in it, too." + +"Then I'm only dreaming!" + +Charlie, the fat man, clumsy as ever in his robes of State, said: "So +_that's_ the snooper, eh?" + +"Yep," Dawes chuckled. "Think you better round up the Knights." + +Sol said: "The Knights?" + +"Exelution! Exelution!" Sally shrieked. + +"Now wait a minute--" + +Charlie shouted. + +Running feet, clanking of armor. Sol backed up against a pillar. "Now +look here. You've gone far enough--" + +"Not quite," said the King. + +The Knights stepped forward. + +"Wait!" Sol screamed. + +Familiar faces, under shining helmets, moved towards him; the tips of +sharp-pointed spears gleaming wickedly. And Sol Becker wondered--would +he ever awake? + + + + +Transcriber's Note: + + This etext was produced from _Fantastic Universe_ January 1957. + Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. + copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and + typographical errors have been corrected without note. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Dream Town, by Henry Slesar + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DREAM TOWN *** + +***** This file should be named 29193.txt or 29193.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/1/9/29193/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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