“No,” said Jeremy breathlessly, and nearly murdered himself going downstairs because he shut his eyes in order to continue the dream so long as it was possible. Then in the cold night air, grasping his uncle's hand with a feverish hold, he stammered: “Is it really true? Are we going--really?” “Of course we're going. Come on--step out or you'll miss the Giant.” “But--but--oh!” he drew a deep breath. “Then they don't think me a liar any more?” “They--who?” “Father and Mother and everyone.” “Don't you think about them. You'd better enjoy yourself.” “But you said you wouldn't go to the Pantomime--not for anything?” “Well, I've changed my mind. Don't talk so much. You know I hate you children chattering. Always got something to say.” So Jeremy was silent. They raced down Orange Street, Jeremy being almost carried off his feet. This was exactly like a dream. This rushing movement and the way that the lamp-posts ran up to you as though they were going to knock you down, and the way that the stars crackled and sputtered and trembled overhead. But Uncle Samuel's hand was flesh and blood, and the heel of Jeremy's right shoe hurt him and he felt the tickle of his sailor-collar at the back of his neck, just as he did when he was awake. Then there they were at the Assembly Rooms door, Jeremy having become so breathless that Uncle Samuel had to hold him up for a moment or he'd have fallen. “Bit too fast for you, was it? Well, you shouldn't be so fat. You eat too much. Now we're not going to sit with your father and mother--there isn't room for you there. So don't you go calling out to them or anything. We're sitting in the back and you'd better be quiet or they'll turn you out.” “I'll be quiet,” gasped Jeremy. Uncle Samuel paused at a lighted hole in the wall and spoke to a large lady in black silk who was drinking a cup of tea. Jeremy caught the jingle of money. Then they moved forward, stumbling in the dark up a number of stone steps, pushing at a heavy black curtain, then suddenly bathed in a bewildering glow of light and scent and colour. Jeremy's first impression, as he fell into this new world, was of an ugly, harsh, but funny voice crying out very loudly indeed: “Oh, my great aunt! Oh, my great aunt! Oh, my great aunt!” A roar of laughter rose about him, almost lifting him off his feet, and close to his car a Glebeshire voice sobbed: “Eh, my dear. Poor worm! Poor worm!” He was aware then of a strong smell of oranges, of Uncle Samuel pushing him forward, of stumbling over boots, knees, and large hands that were clapping in his very nose, of falling into a seat and then clinging to it as though it was his only hope in this strange puzzling world. The high funny voice rose again: “Oh, my great aunt! Oh, my great aunt!” And again it was followed by the rough roar of delighted laughter.