Dick called his colored servant and asked him: “Why are all the lights burning, and what’s this mess?”
“Señor Fuller say he no could see the chairs.”
“Why did he want to see them?”
“He fall on one, señor; t’row it wit’ mucha force and fall on it again. Say dozenas of malditos sillas. If he fall other time, he kill my head.”
“Ah!” said Dick sharply. “Where is he now?”
“He go in your bed, señor.”
“What has happened is pretty obvious,” Bethune remarked. “Fuller came home with a big jag on and scared this fellow. We’d better see if he’s all right.”
Dick took him into his bedroom and the negro followed. The room was very hot and filled with a rank smell of kerosene, for the lamp was smoking and the negro explained that Jake had threatened him with violence if he turned it down. The lad lay with a flushed face on Dick’s bed; his muddy boots sticking out from under the crumpled coverlet. He seemed to be fully dressed and his wet clothes were smeared with foul green slime. There was a big red lump on his forehead.
“Why didn’t you put him into his own bed?” Dick asked the negro.
“He go in, señor, and come out quick. Say no possible he stop. Maldito bed is damp.”