“Norman, old boy! How do you feel? Can I get you anything?”
Storm sank back with a sigh of relief.
“No. I—a drink of water——” he mumbled and closed his eyes as George rose and padded off in his flapping slippers down the hall. There still remained the Brewsters, and his sudden collapse in their presence was enough of itself to arouse their suspicion aside from the wild words which might have issued unbidden from his lips. He must learn what had taken place!
When George returned with the glass Storm drained it and then asked weakly:
“Went to pieces, didn’t I?”
“You sure did, but it was coming to you,” George affirmed. “You’re all right now, though, so just rest and try not to think of anything. Carr fixed you up in good shape——”
“Oh, Lord!” groaned Storm. “Carr! I didn’t even know he was here! How did you get rid of the Brewsters?”
“Well, it wasn’t easy!” A faint smile lighted George’s tired face. “Dick’s got sense enough, but that little scatter-brained wife of his wanted to stay and take care of you! It was all I could do to persuade her to go home.”
“And all that while I was making an exhibition of myself before them!” Storm exclaimed bitterly.
“You were not,” retorted George. “You broke down, of course, just as I knew you must, sooner or later. I hadn’t been easy in my mind about you all day, and I didn’t like the look on your face when you went down to the library to see them, so I stuck around, not eavesdropping, old boy, but to be at hand in case you needed me. I could hear their voices, and then you gave a kind of a cry, and I butted in.