“He’s no himsel’ at all yet, wi’ all the drugs and sleeping potions we’re striving to rest his soul and body wi’,” Joan said, and Aleck turned away, feeling miserable enough. As he reached the corner, he heard some one call him, and Carter came running up from behind.
“I say,” he said, pointing back toward Dr. Thorndyke’s, “have you been up there?”
“Yes,” said Aleck.
“What’s the news there?”
“Just the same.”
“Do they call him very sick?”
“I’m afraid so. It’s the shock, they say, and the long run, and lying so long on the wet ground. They say even if he pulls through this, he’ll never be well again.”
“Well, it’s a shame,” said Carter, “and I’d give all I’m worth if I’d had nothing to do with it. But I felt so confounded mean when they were all letting me have it about that miserable almanac, that I couldn’t help letting fly at the first game that came along.”
“And did that take off any of the meanness?” asked Aleck.