Dreams

Neither his wife nor his son nor his employers knew what dreams whirled in the head of Maxime Formartin. Perhaps--unlike Thurber's elaborately dreaming Walter Mitty--Maxime himself did know. He was a lowly handyman, chauffeur and clerk for the firm of A. Freyman & Van Loo, Antwerp shippers. Long years of faithful service had brought him one occasional pleasure and privilege: going to the bank to draw some of the firm's money for import duties.

One day last week Maxime Formartin went to the bank, drew out 485,000 Belgian francs ($9,700) of his employers' money in crackling banknotes, and with his usual care and sense of awe stuffed them into his briefcase. He felt giddy; his hand was sweaty, his throat dry. Clutching the briefcase, he hastened into a cafe, gulped a beer. In other cafes he had other beers, finally switched to port. Walking on rosy clouds, he passed a sandwichman who handed him an advertising circular. Suddenly the dream crystallized. Said Maxime: "You have given me something, now

I'll give you something." And with that, opening the briefcase, he handed the sandwichman a thousand-franc note.

Maxime Formartin walked along, handing out handfuls of thousand-franc notes, looking especially for the poor & needy. He felt like a king distributing largesse. The number of poor & needy seemed endless. Late that night the police found Maxime dead drunk on the street, his pockets and briefcase empty. In jail the next afternoon, sober but still glowing at the memory of his benefactions, Maxime was unrepentant. "The boss has money enough," he said. "What's 500,000 francs to him? He has 50 million."

Police issued two appeals to the public to turn back the money. The sandwich man and two others turned up, each with a thousand-franc note. The rest of the beneficiaries apparently agreed with Dreamer Formartin that their need was greater than that of Messrs. A. Freyman & Van Loo.

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