"What! do you remember that?" and Mr. Yocomb cast a quick look of surprise at his wife.
"Yes, I remember everything up to a certain point, and then all comes to a full stop. I wish you would bridge over the gap for me."
"Richard," interposed Mrs. Yocomb, quickly, "it wouldn't do thee any good to have father tell thee what thee said when out of thy mind from fever. I can tell thee, however, that thee said nothing of which thee need be ashamed."
"Well, I can't account for it. I must have been taken very suddenly. One thing is clear: you are the kindest people I ever heard of. You ought to be put in a museum."
"Why, Friend Morton, is it queer that we didn't turn thee out of doors or give thee in charge of the poormaster?"
"I certainly am the most fortunate man in the world," I said, laughing. "I had broken myself down and was about to become very ill, and I started off in the dark and never stopped till I reached the shelter of Mrs. Yocomb's wing. If I should tell my experience in New York there'd be an exodus to the country among newspaper men."
"Thee mustn't do it," protested Mr. Yocomb, assuming a look of dismay.
"Thee knows I'm down on editors: I make thee an exception."
"I should think you had; but they would not expect to be treated one hundredth part so well as you have treated me."
"Well, bring thy friends, editors or otherwise. Thy friends will be welcome."
"I fear I'll be selfish; I feel as if I had made too rich a discovery to show it to others."