I could have broken the gas globe over his head for his amazing stupidity. I could indeed make up things for myself did I only know what Charlie did not know that he knew. But since the doors were shut behind me I could only wait his youthful pleasure and strive to keep him in good temper. One minute's want of guard might spoil a priceless revelation; now and again he would toss his books aside--he kept them in my rooms, for his mother would have been shocked at the waste of good money had she seen them--and launched into his sea dreams. Again I cursed all the poets of England. The plastic mind of the bank-clerk had been overlaid, colored and distorted by that which he had read, and the result as delivered was a confused tangle of other voices most like the muttered song through a City telephone in the busiest part of the day. He talked of the galley--his own galley had he but known it--with illustrations borrowed from the "Bride of Abydos." He pointed the experiences of his hero with quotations from "The Corsair," and threw in deep and desperate moral reflections from "Cain" and "Manfred," expecting me to use them all. Only when the talk turned on Longfellow were the jarring cross-currents dumb, and I knew that Charlie was speaking the truth as he remembered it. "What do you think of this?" I said one evening, as soon as I understood the medium in which his memory worked best, and, before he could expostulate, read him the whole of "The Saga of King Olaf!" He listened open-mouthed, flushed, his hands drumming on the back of the sofa where he lay, till I came to the Song of Einar Tamberskelver and the verse: "Einar then, the arrow taking From the loosened string, Answered: 'That was Norway breaking 'Neath thy hand, O King.'" He gasped with pure delight of sound. "That's better than Byron, a little," I ventured. "Better? Why it's _true!_ How could he have known?" I went back and repeated: "What was that?' said Olaf, standing On the quarter-deck, 'Something heard I like the stranding Of a shattered wreck?'" "How could he have known how the ships crash and the oars rip out and go _z-zzp_ all along the line? Why only the other night.... But go back please and read 'The Skerry of Shrieks' again." "No, I'm tired. Let's talk. What happened the other night?" "I had an awful nightmare about that galley of ours. I dreamed I was drowned in a fight. You see we ran alongside another ship in harbor. The water was dead still except where our oars whipped it up. You know where I always sit in the galley?" He spoke haltingly at first, under a fine English fear of being laughed at. "No. That's news to me," I answered, meekly, my heart beginning to beat.