FREUDIANISMS
Then the fish all turn into girls, and the shimmery tale of the goldfish-in-chief changes into dance slippers. Soon her voice begins to call to you. It grows louder and louder. At last you realized that she is saying—
“Eight o’clock—time to get up!”
You heave a sleepy sigh and look at the clock. It says “eight o’clock” but it is probably fast. You turn over and try to remember that dream about goldfish. Or was it girls? Girls or goldfish? Goldfish or girls? They both begin with “g”. Queer, “g.” Stands for “goloshes” and “grapes” and “gloves” and—
“Ten minutes past eight.”
“All right,” you drone dutifully. (But you know it isn’t all right).
You turn on your back and stare at the ceiling. There is no use in getting up yet. You would spend so much time just dressing and undressing. Think of the hours people spend in clothing themselves. If all those minutes were laid end to end they would probably reach from their elbows to—
And then the door bell rings, and someone says something about mail.
Mail!
That’s different.
In a minute you are up and rushing into the hall-way.
“Mail!”