"Bad," said the doctor. "But what kind of a sign would call your interest so deep that you didn't at least see the limb, even if you were perceiving the sign?"
#Peculiar sign,# I thought. Ornamental wrought iron gizmo with curlicues and a little decorative circle that sort of looks like the Boy Scout tenderfoot badge suspended on three spokes. One of the spokes were broken away; I got involved because I was trying to guess whether it had been shot away by some vandal who missed the central design. Then—blooie!#
"It's really too bad, Steve. But you'll be all right in a while."
#Thanks, doctor. Doctor? Doctor—?#
"Sorry, Steve. I forget that everybody is not telepath like I am. I'm James Thorndyke."
Much later I began to wake up again, and with better clarity of mind, I found that I could extend my esper as far as the wall and through the door by a few inches. It was strictly hospital all right; sere white and stainless steel as far as my esper could reach.
In my room was a nurse, rustling in starched white. I tried to speak, croaked once, and then paused to form my voice.
"Can—I see—How is—? Where is?" I stopped again, because the nurse was probably as esper as I was and required a full sentence to get the thought behind it. Only a telepath like the doctor could have followed my jumbled ideas. But the nurse was good. She tried:
"Mr. Cornell? You're awake!"
"Look—nurse—"