He had no thoughts about his finish. He could only think that he was cheating Carlos. He remained still for a few seconds, then he took his hands away, allowing his whole weight to descend on the belt. The buckle bit into his neck sharply and the leather sank into his flesh.
He thought triumphantly, It’s going to work! The blood began to pound in his head. The agony in his lungs nearly forced him to put his hands to the ground, but he didn’t. He swayed on the belt, a blackness before his eyes. Then the handle of the door snapped off and he fell to the boards with a crash. . .
A shadowy figure materialized out of the bright mist. Fenner looked and wondered vaguely if it were God. It wasn’t, it was Curly. She bent over him and said something he couldn’t hear, and he mumbled, “Hello, baby,” softly.
The room was building up into shape and the bright mist was going away. Behind Curly stood a little man with a face like a goat. Faintly, as if he were a long way off, Fenner heard him say, “He’ll be all right now. Just make him lie there. If you want me, I’ll come round.”
Fenner said, “Give me a drink of water,” and fell asleep.
When he woke again, he felt better. The clapper in his head had stopped banging and the room stayed still. Curly was sitting on a chair near him, her eyes very heavy, as if she wanted sleep.
Fenner said, “For’s God’s sake—” but Curly got up hastily and arranged the sheet. “Don’t talk yet,” she said; “you’re all right. Just go to sleep.”
Fenner shut his eyes and tried to think. It wasn’t any use. The bed felt fine and the pain had gone away from his body. He opened his eyes again.
Curly brought him some water. He said, “Don’t I get anything stronger’n that?”
Curly said, “Listen, Jughead, you’re sick. You’re slug-nutty. So take what’s given you.”