"Well," said Lantry. "It's black, it's dark. And after all, street lights were invented to take away the dark and take away fear." "That's silly. Street lights were made so you could see where you were walking. Outside of that there's nothing." "You miss the whole point--" said Lantry. "Do you mean to say you would sit in the middle of an empty lot all night and not be afraid?" "Of what?" "Of what, of what, of what, you little ninny! Of the dark!" "Ho ho." "Would you go out in the hills and stay all night in the dark?" "Sure." "Would you stay in a deserted house alone?" "Sure." "And not be afraid?" "Sure." "You're a liar!" "Don't you call me nasty names!" shouted the boy. Liar was the improper noun, indeed. It seemed to be the worst thing you could call a person. Lantry was completely furious with the little monster. "Look," he insisted. "Look into my eyes...." The boy looked. Lantry bared his teeth slightly. He put out his hands, making a clawlike gesture. He leered and gesticulated and wrinkled his face into a terrible mask of horror. "Ho ho," said the boy. "You're funny." "_What_ did you say?" "You're funny. Do it again. Hey, gang, c'mere! This man does funny things!" "Never mind." "Do it again, sir." "Never mind, never mind. Good night!" Lantry ran off. "Good night, sir. And mind the dark, sir!" called the little boy. * * * * * Of all the stupidity, of all the rank, gross, crawling, jelly-mouthed stupidity! He had never seen the like of it in his life! Bringing the children up without so much as an _ounce_ of imagination! Where was the fun in being children if you didn't imagine things? He stopped running. He slowed and for the first time began to appraise himself. He ran his hand over his face and bit his finger and found that he himself was standing midway in the block and he felt uncomfortable. He moved up to the street corner where there was a glowing lantern. "That's better," he said, holding his hands out like a man to an open warm fire. He listened. There was not a sound except the night breathing of the crickets. Faintly there was a fire-hush as a rocket swept the sky. It was the sound a torch might make brandished gently on the dark air. He listened to himself and for the first time he realized what there was so peculiar to himself. There was not a sound in him. The little nostril and lung noises were absent. His lungs did not take nor give oxygen or carbon-dioxide; they did not move. The hairs in his nostrils did not quiver with warm combing air. That faint purring whisper of breathing did not sound in his nose. Strange. Funny. A noise you never heard when you were alive, the breath that fed your body, and yet, once dead, oh how you missed it!