Dreaming Bob 141 



" but I don't go thinkin' you can help me 

 out. What about you're old dockiments you 

 were talkin* of? Did they help you out 

 any ?" 



" You made fun of 'em, and of deeds and 

 lawyers and so on, but I know who you are," 

 I replied. 



" Who ?" he asked, stopping suddenly and 

 facing me. 



" Bartholomew Quiggle, son of old Aunt 

 Betsy that kept cakes and beer in her day, 

 when this was a stage road," I said, with a 

 steady look into the old man's face. 



" Bartholomew Quiggle. It's the first 

 time in many a long year since I heard it, 



'cept when I said it to myself. Barthol 



but I'm too old to think about it now. 

 Let's find the chest, and then it'll be time 

 to talk it over." The old man moved for- 

 ward. 



For the first time since I met him on the 

 meadows did it occur to me I might be 

 making a fool of myself. I was interested 

 from the start, and had made an effort to 

 identify the old man, which had proved an 

 easy task, but that I should be influenced by 

 a dream was absurd. Had not what he had 



