“So far as I have been able to examine him, yes. The concussion, when he struck the hard roadbed, produced insensibility. The cut of the cuticle covering the left parietal bone, just above the ear, is not dangerous, since there is no fracture. I do not anticipate any serious result, fortunately. It might have been worse—it might have been worse!”
“Quite true; still we should have more confidence in his recovery if we were certain the worst has passed.”
“All passed, Uncle—I guess so!” spoke up Sam, in cheery tones, and he sat up on the couch.
“Ha, ha, Sam, my boy; not so fast. Glad to hear your voice again, but you must rest; you must rest. You need it. The doctor insists,” and Mr. Harris hastened to his side to urge him again to lie down.
Nevertheless Sam arose to his feet and remarked: “All right, Uncle! A little sore up there,” and he motioned to the sore side of his head. “But that’s all—I guess.”
“You must avoid excitement,” cautioned the doctor. “And I advise you at once to take to your bed and remain there until I make a thorough diagnosis of your case, which I shall do in the morning.”
“Not if I know it. Not much—I guess not!” mentally noted Sam.
Turning to Mr. Harris, he asked: “How long have I been unconscious, Uncle, and who brought me home?”
The question was put by Sam with an eagerness bordering on excitement.
It was noticed by both the gentlemen.