A man’s surroundings have a great effect upon his character; I felt myself perceptibly refined by my presence in the stalls. My position as an under-master in a private school seemed unworthy of me. “It is not,” so I thought, “the profession for a gentleman. I shall change it.” I must have known perfectly well that it was impossible to change it; but it pleased me to say so to myself. My old tendencies towards economy vanished. I felt that I must have a cab to take me home. It would cost two shillings probably, but that would be better than an incongruity. My æsthetic principles positively forbade me to walk home after having sat in the stalls. So I hired a four-wheeler, as I always mistrust hansoms. “After all,” I said to myself as I put up the window, “what is money? We assign a value to it, but it is relative and transitory. We don’t know what anything’s really worth. What is money? What is money?” The words repeated themselves over and over again, in time with the rattling of the cab,--“What is money?” Such a repetition is liable to send one off to sleep. I am not sure that I might not have fallen into a doze myself, if I had not suddenly been startled into wakefulness by the stopping of the cab. I felt certain that the man could not have driven to my lodgings in the time, but I jumped out. To my amazement I found myself in an empty street. On one side of it ran a low stone wall, on the other there were houses; the darkness hid them to a great extent; but the house at which my cab had stopped was brightly lighted up, and appeared to be some kind of a shop. There was nothing set out in the windows, but over the door were the words “Joseph, Grocer.” The street itself was paved with blocks of crystal, and in the air there sounded the wildest music. I turned to my cabby, utterly at a loss as to where I was, or why I was there. He sat absolutely motionless; his hands still held the reins, but his eyes were shut. “Now then, cabby!” I cried, “where have you taken me to?” He made no answer, and gave no sign of having heard me; but the horse turned its head and looked at me. As it did so, the music ceased. “You’re starring,” the horse remarked. I remember perfectly well that one of the young men with the shut-up hats had made the same remark about some actress, and I had then wondered what he meant. “This is very confusing,” I said. “It was the cabman that my remarks were addressed to.” “Look over that parapet,” answered the horse. I could not help thinking how extraordinary it was to hear a horse speak. All my life long I had been accustomed to regard a horse as a poor dumb animal. It might, of course, be all very well in fables to---- “Shut up!” shrieked the horse. “I never said anything,” I replied, indignantly. “No, but you thought.” “Well, I can’t help thinking.” “Can’t you? If you think like that again, I’ll kick this cab to splinters. I was shod yesterday. Why can’t you look over the parapet, and do as you’re told?”