“I insist that you go to bed, Sam,” pleaded Mr. Harris.
“The very best thing you can do, sir,” added the doctor.
“Of course, Uncle, I shall do so to please you; but the only soreness I feel is on the side of my head, and I’ve often felt worse. But you have not answered my questions.”
“You were unconscious for about two hours. My Lord Beauchamp brought you home in an automobile. It seems he was returning from a spin out on the Barnes road and accidentally ran his machine against you. He, like the perfect gentleman he is, immediately stopped and went to your aid. He recognized you and brought you home with all speed.”
“Ah! Very queer!” exclaimed Sam, significantly.
“What is queer, Sam?” Mr. Harris interrogated, with a keen, penetrating, yet puzzled look.
“Why, that fellow,” and Sam checked himself from making a grave charge, by indifferently remarking: “Oh, it seems queer to be run over,” and then he looked up and continued: “Doctor, I thank you for your attention; good night.
“Uncle, good night; I’m going to bed.”
“Very sensible, Sam; good night.”
“This powder is an opiate and will act to produce sound sleep, which is very essential to counter the shock your nervous system has received,” said the doctor, as he laid out the potion. “Take it, after getting into bed.”