“Better,” said I. “I am a bit bothered by our conversation of yesterday.”

“You were out of your head yesterday,” said he. “Anything you remember me saying is no doubt a result of your overactive imagination mixed with delirium.”

“You think so?”

“It was probably all a dream.”

“If it was, then it was a manly dream,” said I.

“No doubt.”

“That’s the only type of dream that I have.”

“That’s very strange,” said he. “That’s true of me also. I have nothing but manly dreams—dreams with lots of killing and mayhem. Sometimes there is bloodlust.”

“And beautiful women?” I asked.

“Yes. Oh, yes. Many beautiful woman, um… running around. Sometimes they are nude.”

“Sometimes?”

“Almost all the time… all the time. They are always running around nude… with their navels and what-not showing.”

“Me too,” said I. “I really like women.”

“I do too,” said Ellwood. “Some of my best friends are women.”

“Friends?”

“No, not friends. Acquaintances… um, companions? Conquests! That’s what they are. They are conquests. Dozens of women. Scores! Hundreds! And all of them, running around and all of them beautiful, and not the least bit intelligent or accomplished in any way.”

“That makes me feel better,” said I, stopping to pull out something that was stuck in my teeth and turned out to be the wing of a fly.

“Good,” said he, setting in my lap a tray, which I had here to for not noticed. “I brought you some breakfast.”