My senses forsook meⒶ and I should have fallen, but it put up its hand and flipped its fingers toward me and this brought an influence of some kind which banished my faint and restored me; yes, more than that, for I was fresher and finer now than I had been before the fatigues of the funeral. I started away at once and with such hasteⒶ as I could command, for I had never seen the day that I was not afraid of a ghost or would stay where one was if there was another place convenient.Ⓐ But I was stopped by a word, in a voice which I knew and which was musicⒶ to my ears—

“Come back! I am alive again, it is not a ghost.”

I returned, but I was not comfortable,Ⓐ for I could not at once realizeⒶ that he was really and solidly alive again, although I knew he was, for the fact was plain enough, the cat could have recognized it. As indeed the cat did; he came loafing in, waving his tail in greeting and satisfaction,Ⓐ and when he saw 44 he roached his back and inflated his tail and dropped a pious word and started away on urgent business; but 44 laughed, and called him back and explained to him in the cat language, and stroked him and petted him and sent him away to the other animals with the news; and in a minute here they came, padding and pattering from all directions, and they piled themselves all over him in their joy, nearly hiding him from sight, and all talking at once, each in his own tongue, and 44 answering in the language of each; and finally he fed them

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liberally with all sorts of palatableⒶ things from my cupboard (where there hadn't been a thing before), and sent them away convinced and happy.

By this time my tremors were gone and I was at rest, there was nothing in my mind or heart but thankfulness to have him back again, except wonder as to how it could be, and whether he had really been dead or had only seemed to perish in a magic-show and illusion; but he answered the thought while fetching a hot supper from my empty cupboard, saying—

“It wasn't an illusion, I died;” and added indifferently,Ⓐ “it is nothing, I have done itⒶ many a time!”

It was a hardy statement, and I did not strain myself with trying to believe it, but of course I did not say so. His supper was beyond praise for toothsomenessⒶ, but I was not acquainted with any of the dishes. He said they were all foreign, from various corners of the globe. An amazing thing, I thought, yet it seemed to meⒶ it must be true. There was a very rare-done bird that was peculiarly heavenly; it seemed to be a kind of duck.

“Canvas-back,” he said, “hot from America!”

“What is America?”

“It's a country.”

“A country?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“Oh, away off. It hasn't been discovered yet. Not quite. Next fall.”

“Have you—”

“Been there? Yes; in the past, in the present, in the future. You should see it four or five centuries from now! This duck is of that period. How do you like the DuplicatesⒶ?”

It was his common way, the way of a boy, and most provoking: careless, capricious, unstable, never sticking to a subject, forever flitting and sampling here and there and yonder, like a bee; always, just as he was on the point of becoming interesting, he changed the subject. I was annoyed, but concealed it as well as I could, and answered—

“Oh, well, they are well enough, but they are not popular. They

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won't join the union, they work for nothing, the men resent their intrusion. There you have the situation: the men dislike them, and they are bitter upon the magician for sending them.”

It seemed to give 44 an evil delight. He rubbed his hands vigorously together, and said—

“They were a good idea, the Duplicates; judiciously handled, they will make a lot of trouble! Do you know, those creatures are not uninteresting, all things considered, for they are not real persons.”

“Heavens, what are they, then!”

“I will explain. Move up to the fire.”

We left the table and its savory wreckage, and took comfortable seats, each at his own customary side of the fire, which blazed up brisklyⒶ now, as if in a voluntary welcome of us. Then 44 reached up and took from the mantelpiece some things which I had not noticed there before: a slender reed stem with a small red-clay cup at the end of it, and a dry and dark-colored leaf, of a breed unknown to me. Chatting along,—I watching curiously—he crushed the crisp leaf in his palm, and filled that little cup with it; then he put the stem in his mouth and touched the cup with his finger, which instantly set fire to the vegetable matter and sent up a column of smokeⒶ and I divedⒶ under the bed, thinking something might happen. But nothing did, and so upon persuasion I returned to my chair but moved it a little further, for 44 was tiltingⒶ his head far back and shooting ring after ring of blue smokeⒶ toward the ceiling—delicate gauzyⒶ revolving circlets, beautiful to see; and always each new ring took enlargement and 44 fired the next one through it with a good aim and happy art, and he did seem to enjoy it so; but not I, for I believed his entrails were on fire, and could perhaps explode and hurt some one, and most likely the wrong person,Ⓐ just as happens at riots and such things.

But nothing occurred, and I grew partially reconciled to the conditions, although the odor of the smoke was nauseating and a little difficult to stand. It seemed strange that he could endure it, and stranger still that he should seem to enjoy it. I turned the mystery over in my mind and concluded it was most likely a pagan

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religious service, and therefore I tookⒶ my cap off, not in reverence but as a matter of discretion. But he said—

“No, it is only a vice, merely a vice,Ⓐ but not a religious one. It originated in Mexico.”

“What is Mexico?”

“It's a country.”

“A country?”

“Yes.”

“Where is it?”

“Away off. It hasn't been discovered yet.”

“Have you ever—”

“Been there? Yes, many times. In the past, in the present, and in the future. No, the Duplicates are not real, they are fictions. I will explain about them.”

I sighed, but said nothing. He was always disappointing; I wanted to hear about Mexico.Ⓐ

“The way of it is this,” he said. “You know, of course, that you are not one person, but two. One is your Workaday-Self,ⒶⒶ and 'tends to business, the other is your Dream-Self, and has no responsibilities, and cares only for romance and excursions and adventure. It sleeps when your other self is awake; when your other self sleeps, your Dream-Self has full control, and does as it pleases. It has far more imagination than has the Workaday-Self,Ⓐ therefore its pains and pleasures are far more real and intense than are those of the other self, and its adventures correspondingly picturesque and extraordinary. As a rule, when a party of Dream-Selves—whetherⒶ comrades or strangers—get together and flit abroad in the globe, they have a tremendous time. But you understand, they have no substance, they are only spirits. The Workaday-Self,Ⓐ has a harder lot and a duller time;Ⓐ it can't get away from the flesh, and is clogged and hindered by it; and also by the low grade of its own imagination.”

“But 44, these Duplicates are solid enough!”

“So they are, apparently, but it is only fictitious flesh and bone, put upon them by the magician and me. We pulledⒶ them out of the OriginalsⒶ and gave them this independent life.”

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“Why, 44,Ⓐ they fight and bleed, like anybody!”

“Yes, and they feel, too. It is not a bad job, in the solidifying line, I've never seen better flesh put together by enchantment; but no matter, it is a pretty airy fabric, and ifⒶ we should remove the spell they would vanish like blowing out a candle. Ah, they are a capable lot, with their measureless imaginations! If they imagine there is a mystic clog upon them and it takes them a couple of hours to set a couple of lines, that is what happens; but on the contrary, if they imagine it takes them but half a second to set a whole galleyful of matter, that is what happens! A dandy lot is that handful of Duplicates, and the easy match of a thousand real printers! Handled judiciously, they'll make plenty of trouble.”

“But why should you want them to make trouble, 44?”

“Oh, merely to build up the magician's reputation. If they once get their imaginations started . . . . . oh, the consuming intensity and effectiveness of it!” He pondered a while, then said, indolently, “Those Originals are in love with these women and are not making any headway; now then, if we arrange it so that the Duplicates . . . . . lad, it's getting late—for you; time does not exist, for me. August, that is a nice table-service—you may have it. Good-night!” and he vanished.

It was heavy silver, and ornate, and on one great piece was engraved “America Cup;” on the others were chased these words, which had no meaning for me: “New York Yacht Club, 1903.”

I sighed, and said to myself, “It may be that he is not honest.” After some days I obliterated the words and dates, and sold the service at a good price.