I gave in. I had an indistinct idea that I was going mad, but I walked carefully across the polished street, and leaned over the low stone wall. Certainly it was a marvellous and beautiful sight. Far down, as far as my eye could reach, there was darkness; and the darkness was strewn with myriad golden stars. I heard the horse’s voice behind me: “The smallest of those is the world you’ve just left, and this is the world you’ve come to.” I knew perfectly well that this was impossible and quite unscientific, and as I leaned over the wall I formed my conclusions. I had been terribly overworked lately, and probably part of my brain had given way---- “Never had any!” yelled the horse, and went into a roar of unmannerly laughter. I took no notice whatever of this, but went on thinking. These delusions must have arisen from some such partial failure of brain-power. It was to be hoped that it was only temporary. Probably rest and medical advice would soon set me up again. I would step across to the grocer’s, and inquire where the nearest doctor lived. As I crossed the street, I noticed that the horse was humming the National Anthem. I pushed open the door of the grocery and entered. There were counters and shelves, but nothing on them. After waiting a little while I ventured to tap on the floor with my foot. A voice from the other side of the counter said:-- “What may we have the pleasure of doing for you?” I looked, but I could not see any one, and I ventured to say so. “No, you can’t see me. It doesn’t really matter, but I think I left it downstairs. James,” the voice called to some invisible person at the farther end of the shop, “what did I do with my body? I had it only this morning.” The answer came in a boyish voice: “You left it in the cellar, Joseph, when you were packing up the nightmares.” “So I did, so I did. You’re right, James.” “But,” I said, “I can’t see James’s body either.” “No, you see James has only got one. You’re very inquisitive. If you must know, his body’s gone to the wash. You wouldn’t have him wear it dirty?” “I generally wash my own,” I said mildly. “Well, we don’t. This is a grocery, not a laundry.” “You must excuse me,” I pleaded, “I’m quite a stranger in these parts.” I saw it was no good to inquire for a doctor. If the grocery was part of the delusion, as it seemed to be, it would be absurd to make the inquiry there. If, on the other hand, the grocery really existed, then probably I did not require the doctor’s services. But I felt very muddled about it. “I suppose you’re Mr. Joseph?” I said. “I am Joseph, and I should take it as a favour if you would tell me with what I can serve you.” “Well,” I said, “judging from the state of your counter and shelves, I don’t see anything you can serve me with.”