"Oh, yes," he said. "I'm a seafaring man, too, only I went through Annapolis, and will start on my practice cruise in a week or so. Then I'll get my commission in the navy." "You've done well, Fred." I felt moved to drop the "Freddie." "I've put in seven years, and am only second mate in schooners." "But you can do better," he answered. "Why, every day of my life I've thought of you, done the things and said the things that I fancied you might do or say. I never forgot the time you kicked the monster." "Oh, when you were a baby?" I answered. "Why, I'd about forgotten that, myself." "Shake your crowd," he said, "and I'll shake mine. Come with me, and talk. I've lots to say." We talked that evening, to little results. I found Fred vapid, flippant, and uninteresting. He had spent his childhood and youth at home, winning prizes at Sunday school and at the dancing academy. At Annapolis, he had learned boxing and football; but, never in his life had he struck a blow in anger until this evening, when he had thrashed an able seaman. He was as surprised at the feat as I was myself, and asked me if he had done it in the fit and proper manner. I was disappointed in him, and left him, with a willingness not to meet him again. And that night I had the frightful dreams of my childhood, though not then, nor before nor since, have I been a drinking man. I may as well describe them now, for they appeared again and again while we lay in port, and bear strongly upon this story. There was the menacing monster that I had recognized by Fred's childish description, and the imaginary thing which I had kicked away from him--a creature of teeth and eyes, of horns, claws, wings, and scales, familiar to all sensitive children, perhaps, and possibly descended through the ages as a primordial memory of some prehistoric reptile. But this, terrifying though it was, did not afflict me greatly; for I was somewhat familiar with it, and even in my dreams knew that I could escape it by flight, and in the waking, or half-waking, condition drive it from me by imagined attack. It was a new element in these new dreams that made me dread the night as a time of torment and horror, and finally so worked upon my nerves that, ascribing it to the influence of my environment, I quit my berth long before the day of sailing. This new thing can be described easier than realized. It was dark, deadly quiet, and inert, formless, except for its three dimensions--about two feet long, and six inches broad and high, with neither eyes, feet, wings, teeth, tail, ears, nor even a mouth. Yet it had power of volition, and was always behind me. It followed me across miles of open country, through pathless jungles, through long, spacious halls, sometimes lighted, but always empty. In one dream I took to an open boat, and pulled frantically to sea, only to find it at my back when I turned for a sight ahead. Again I climbed a tree, and saw it resting on the bough behind me.