Narrowpath put down his glass on the "desk" in front
of him. He gazed at me with open-mouthed astonishment.
"Toronto?" he gasped. "Montreal and Toronto! The difference
between Montreal and Toronto! My dear sir--Toronto--Toronto--"
I stood waiting for him to explain. But as I did so I
seemed to become aware that a voice, not Mr. Narrowpath's
but a voice close at my ear, was repeating "Toronto
--Toronto--Toronto--"
I sat up with a start--still in my berth in the Pullman
car--with the voice of the porter calling through the
curtains "Toronto! Toronto!"
So! It had only been a dream. I pulled up the blind and
looked out of the window and there was the good old city,
with the bright sun sparkling on its church spires and
on the bay spread out at its feet. It looked quite
unchanged: just the same pleasant old place, as cheerful,
as self-conceited, as kindly, as hospitable, as quarrelsome,
as wholesome, as moral and as loyal and as disagreeable
as it always was.
"Porter," I said, "is it true that there is prohibition
here now?"
The porter shook his head.
"I ain't heard of it," he said.
XVIII. Merry Christmas
"My Dear Young Friend," said Father Time, as he laid his
hand gently upon my shoulder, "you are entirely wrong.
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