The image of the real one, as the photographs show him, this
substitute used to be. Yellow. But he'll get fed up. It's a queer world.
Think of the luck of it. The luck of it. I expect he'll be sent to Capri.
It's the best fun for a greener."
His cough overtook him again. Then he began mumbling enviously of
pleasures and strange delights. "The luck of it, the luck of it! All my
life I've been in London, hoping to get my chance."
"But you don't know that the Sleeper died," said Graham, suddenly.
The old man made him repeat his words.
"Men don't live beyond ten dozen. It's not in the order of things," said
the old man. "I'm not a fool. Fools may believe it, but not me."
Graham became angry with the old man's assurance. "Whether you are a fool
or not," he said, "it happens you are wrong about the Sleeper."
"Eh?"
"You are wrong about the Sleeper. I haven't told you before, but I will
tell you now. You are wrong about the Sleeper."
"How do you know? I thought you didn't know anything--not even about
Pleasure Cities."
Graham paused.
"You don't know," said the old man. "How are you to know? It's very
few men--"
"I _am_ the Sleeper."
He had to repeat it.
There was a brief pause. "There's a silly thing to say, sir, if you'll
excuse me. It might get you into trouble in a time like this," said
the old man.
Graham, slightly dashed, repeated his assertion.
"I was saying I was the Sleeper.
Pages:
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138