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“What you driving at, Poke?” Step inquired. “Talking about dreams, weren’t you? Go ahead!”

“Oh, it’s nothing of any importance,” said Poke hastily.

“Huh! Seemed to be important enough a minute ago,” Step remarked. “What was the yarn, Sam?”

Poke preferred to do his own explaining, if explanation there had to be.

“I was telling Sam a story—yes; a story about a dream I had last night. And—well, I was telling him, too, that it worried me. It wasn’t a common dream—not by a long shot! And—and if you’ve got to have the whole thing, it is worrying me a lot! There’s trouble brewing for somebody, a heap of trouble.”

Step regarded Poke with wide-opened eyes and sagging jaw, but the Shark’s lip curled scornfully.

“Nonsense!” he jeered.

“I tell you, it was a warning!” Poke insisted.

“Warning of what?”

“Why—why, I don’t know; that’s just the trouble.”

The Shark was regarding the prophet of evil very steadily. “Poke,” said he, “what did you eat last night before you went to bed?”

“Noth—that is, nothing to speak of.”