"Name isn't Ricky," the tall young man said. "Why?" "Why what?" Reggie said blankly. He seemed to have fumbled the conversational ball. He wished the young man would speak with more clarity and add a few articles and pronouns to his sentences. "Why are they following you?" the young man said peevishly. "Nothing better to do?" "That's just it," Reggie said. "I don't know why I'm being followed. But everywhere I go this little man sticks to me like a postage stamp." "Where is he now?" Reggie pointed dramatically at the dark little man. "At the bar. He took the stool I left. He's right between that fat old man and that young girl with the red hair." * * * * * The tweed-clad young man stared in the direction of Reggie's pointing finger, then he frowned and glanced down at Reggie. "Any pink elephants, yet?" "I'm not drunk," Reggie said indignantly. "That man has been following me like a conga partner all afternoon." The tall young man patted Reggie patiently on the shoulder. "Sleep and rest will make a new man of you," he said. "Go home. Go to bed. You've got hallucinations." "Hallucinations!" Reggie cried over the din of the orchestra. "What do you mean? Don't you see the man I mean? Right between the fat old man and the girl with the red hair?" The tweedish young man shook his head. "The stool between the fat old man and the red-haired girl is completely unoccupied," he said in the patient voice of a man instructing a very young child. Reggie shook his head bewilderedly. There was a sudden cold hollow in the pit of his stomach. He opened and closed his mouth several times without producing a sound. "Are you serious?" he finally managed to gasp. "Certainly," the young man answered. "There's no one on the bar stool you left. You're just seeing things. Take my advice and go home. You've had too much giggle water." Reggie set his drink down hastily. For a long deliberate moment he studied the back of the dark little man at the bar. Then he shook his head dazedly. Maybe this was all some wild product of his imagination. Maybe he _was_ having hallucinations.... He shook his head again and then he shook hands with the young man in the tweed suit. "I'm going home, Ricky," he said firmly. "Say hello to all the gang for me." "Name isn't Ricky," the young man said, sipping from his drink, "but I'll tell the boys you were asking." "Good," Reggie said. He left the crowded bar by a back entrance. The warm sunshine was pleasant and reassuring. People hurried past him, traffic surged in the streets, and everything was quite normal. He breathed a deep sigh and hailed a cab. He gave the driver the address of his apartment and then settled back against the soft leather cushions. Sleep was all he needed. That was all. * * * * *