* * * * *
Horbit was sitting in his detention quarters idly flicking through
a book tape on the Civil War when I found him. The tic in his cheek
marked time with every new page.
"President Lincoln," I said reverently.
Horbit looked up, his eyes set in a clever new way. "_You_ call me
that. Does it mean I am recovering? You don't mean now that I'm getting
back my right senses?"
"Mr. President, the situation you find yourself in now is something
stranger and more evil than any madness. I am not a phantom of your
mind--I am a _real_ man. This wild, distorted place is a _real_ place."
"Do you think you can pull the wool over my eyes, you scamp? Mine eyes
have seen the glory."
"Yes, sir." I sat down beside him and looked earnestly into his
twitching face. "But I know you have always believed in the occult."