They put me away in the dark room....
In the morning Knowlton dropped in to see me on the way to the office. Dr. Sinclair had called first and expressed approval of my progress. He also gave permission to talk business for half an hour, which was why I had Knowlton summoned by telephone.
"Well, Ted, our friend nearly did for you," he said with his diabolic grin, as he drew a chair alongside my bed. "I certainly was scared until the doc said he thought he could pull you through." I knew that for Knowlton to admit this much was for him to confess he had passed through an emotional crisis. Of course the way he put it was part of the "hard-headed" pose of all our race, whether English or American. It is the half-unconscious way in which we hide our sentimentality when the latter collides with reality.
"Thanks, Knowlton," I replied; "it would be awkward for the business if I got out ahead of time." I could not resist teasing him this much.
"Wasn't just what I meant, Ted," he said, squirming uncomfortably. "Well, I guess it doesn't matter. The point now is that the Owens people sent us a crackerjack, A-number-one man, and he analyzed the Texas formula in a jiffy, so to speak. Prospero lost us only four days, and the Owens man has speeded us up so we have made that good. He costs like hell, though, and as soon as you can get out again, Ted, I'll let him go."
"When will I be back, do you think?"
"Not until after Christmas—and then no more night work. We'll move you back to the day-shift. It's a damned nuisance."
"It's something of a nuisance for me, too," I said, "having your pet employee trying to murder me. I hope you appreciate it has been inconvenient."
Knowlton grinned: "Good boy, Ted, that's the stuff. Never lose your nerve."