“Yes. It’s almost awful,” said Blunt excitedly. “Only a little while ago.”
“Here, I say, hadn’t you better leave off talking?” said Uncle Jeff gruffly.
“Lie down on the mats for a few minutes,” said Stan. “I’ll roll one up for a pillow.”
“Absurd!” cried Blunt. “You two are fancying that I am ill, when something that has been clogging my brain has broken or been swept away—I can’t tell which; I only know that I’m quite well again once more, and see everything clearly in connection with that business. I remember—Yes: that’s it.”
Stan glanced at Uncle Jeff, who frowned and looked puzzled as to what was best to be done. In his eyes the manager was going quite off his head.
For Blunt had begun to pace the office rapidly, and went on muttering to himself as he gazed straight before him, ending by stopping short at the office table and bringing one hand down with a heavy bang which made the ink leap in the stand.
“Have another glass of water,” said Uncle Jeff; and Stan started to get it, but stopped short.
“Don’t run away, Lynn,” cried Blunt. “This is interesting. How some doctors would like to know! It has all come back now, but I must have been off my head or I shouldn’t have acted so, of course. Half-an-hour ago I didn’t know I had done it, but I do know now. Talking about the matter seems to have cleared away the last of the mental cobwebs that have been worrying me.”
“Yes, yes, yes,” said Uncle Jeff impatiently; “but you really had better have a nap.”
Blunt smiled as he looked at the speaker.