The man with the spectacles came again.  I could see scissors in his hand.  He turned me so that I lay on my side.  He began to hurt me; I groaned.

“I won’t be long about it,” he said; “I am only cutting your hair a little, so that I can get at you.”

Then I felt my head getting cold—­wet, I thought; then I felt my head get warm; soon I was turned again, and lay on my back.

“Now,” said the man, “I’ll give you some more water if you’ll promise to go to sleep.”

I could not promise, though I wanted the water, and wanted to go to sleep so that this strange dream might be ended.  Then I laughed inwardly at the thought of banishing dreams by sleeping.

The man brought a glass, and held it to my lips, and I drank.  The water did not taste so good as the first draught did.

I closed my eyes; again the thought came that the dream would soon be over.

When I opened my eyes, I knew it was night.  A lighted candle was near me.  I was lying on my side.  I had turned, or had been turned, while asleep.  Near me was a man on a bed; beyond him was another man on another bed ... a great fear seized me; drops of cold sweat rolled down my face....  Where was I?  What was I?

My head began to throb.  I heard heavy breathing.  I tried to remember how I had been brought to this place.  It seemed like the place of ... had I dreamed?  Yes, I had dreamed that I had drunk much water; my throat was parched.

A face bent over me.  It was a man’s face.  I had seen it in my dream ... then I was not yet awake?  I was still dreaming?  Or, if I was awake, maybe I had not dreamed?  Can this man and these men and this tent and this pain all be real?  No; certainly not.  When I awake I shall laugh at this dream; I shall write it out, because it is so complex and strange.

The man, said, “You feel better now, don’t you?”

I tried to reply.  I could not speak, though my lips moved.  The man brought water, and I drank.  He sat by me, and put his fingers on my wrist.

“You’ll be all right in a day or two,” he said.  I hoped that his words would come true; then I wondered how, in, a dream, I could hope for a dream to end.  He went away.

I tried hard to think, but the effort increased the pain in my head.  I felt cramped, as though I had lain long in one posture.  I tried to turn, but was able only to stretch my legs and arms.

The man came again.  He looked at me; then, he knelt down and raised my head.  I felt better.  He pulled something behind me, and then went away, leaving me propped up.

Daylight was coming.  The light of the candle contrasted but feebly against the new light.  I could see the pallets.  On each was a man.  There were five.  I counted,—­one, two, three, four, five; five sick men.  I wondered if they were dreaming also, and if they were all sick in the head ... no; no; such fantasy shows but more strongly that all this horrible thing is unreal.