“Of course, no one can’t be expected to do much when he’s weak as you are. But as soon as you feel strong enough, do pray make a start; and, just look here, it’s your dooty—it is, indeed. If you don’t, him as has shown himself your friend ’ll be suffering for it, and if he does, so will somebody else.”
“Let me get well,” said Dick, knitting his brows.
“Well, I will; but, look here, if you don’t, my conscience won’t let me hold my tongue no longer; I shall speak out myself.”
“You wouldn’t dare, Jerry, after your promise.”
The doctor’s visit brought Jerry’s to an end, and at last Dick was left alone to think out his position and what he ought to do.
But he could not plan just then; he was too weak, and his head grew confused.
“It will have to wait,” he said with a sigh. “Everything in the past seems now like part of a dream, and I’m beginning to feel as if I really am Dick Smithson, and that I have no right to think anything about Mark. Yes, my head feels all wrong, and as if that weary time was coming back. What did the doctor say—that I must sleep all I can? I will.”
His eyelids were already drooping from sheer weariness, and a few minutes later he was lying back fast asleep, with nature working steadily and well to build up his strength.