“What’s the matter, Blunt?” said Uncle Jeff quietly.
“Nothing—nothing—only it seems so strange—so queer. My head—my head!”
“Lie back in that chair.—Stan, fill a glass with water.”
“No, no; nonsense!” cried Blunt impatiently. “I’m all right now, only it’s my head. So strange!”
“Yes; you’ve been talking a little too much. You see, you are still weak.”
“Rubbish!” cried Blunt angrily. “You don’t understand. It’s my head. Something seems to have broken or fallen there so that I can see quite clearly.”
“Drink that water,” said Uncle Jeff sternly; and in obedience to the command the manager took the glass Stan handed to him, drained it, and set it down.
“Refreshing?”
“Yes, very.—But how strange!”
“Is it?” said Uncle Jeff quietly.