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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: 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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