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“It was a dream, all right, but it wasn’t a common dream. I tell you, it was a—er—er—it must have been a warning!”

“What sort of warning?”

Poke wagged his head heavily. “My! but I wish to-day was safely over!” he said ominously.

Sam laughed. It was a skeptical laugh, but it had a trace of uneasiness.

“Go on! You’re joking!”

Poke heaved a tremendous sigh. “Well, I guess you wouldn’t be talking about joking if you’d had that dream yourself!”

“What was it about?”

“Everything—all mixed up! Course I can’t remember it all—you never can. But we were in it—all the fellows in the club were. And the way it went—Geeminy! first thing I knew I was sitting up in bed and yelling like an Indian. And I couldn’t get to sleep again, and the thing has been hanging over me ever since. It won’t go away. That’s why I feel in my bones that something is going to happen, and why I wish this day were over. Why, Sam, that was the meanest dream, the scariest dream—the—the——”

Poke broke off; for round a corner came the Shark and Step Jones. And, of a sudden, it had occurred to the seer of visions that the Shark was the last person of his acquaintance who was likely to show sympathy for such a tale. But the newcomers had caught part of his speech.