instant at the boy’s restless face.
“I don’t know,” said Laurie; “I must think. …”
He got up.
“Look here, Mr. Vincent,” he said, “it seems to me you’re extraordinarily—er—extraordinarily plausible. But I’m even now not quite sure whether I’m not going mad. It’s like a perfectly mad dream—all these things one on the top of the other.”
He paused, looking sharply at the elder man, and away again.
“Yes?”
Laurie began to finger a pencil that lay on the chimney-shelf.
“You see what I mean, don’t you?” he said. “I’m not disputing—er—your point of view, nor your sincerity. But I do wish you would give me another proof or two.”
“You haven’t