Chapter Fifty One.
Broken with the Fight.
“Better stop where you are, man,” said Uncle Luke.
“No,” said Leslie, as he stood gazing straight before him, as one who tries to see right on into the future along the vista of one’s own life.
“But it is nearly one o’clock. Sit down there and get a nap.”
“No. I must go home,” said Leslie slowly, and in a measured way, as if he were trying to frame his sentences correctly in carrying on the conversation while thinking of something else.
“Well, you are your own master.”
“Yes,” said Leslie. “How is he?”
“Calmer now. He was half mad when he came to, and Knatchbull was afraid of brain fever, but he gave him something to quiet the excitement. Better have given you something too.”