Simeon stirred uneasily. “Yes.” He drew a quick sigh and turned toward the desk. “Yes—I saw him.”
He glanced at the mail, but he did not touch it. His hand seemed to have lost volition and when John spoke again he gave no sign that he had heard.
The young man stepped to him quickly and touched his arm.
The man looked down at it vacantly. Then he lifted his hand and touched the spot where the hand had rested. He looked up, a thin, anxious smile quivering his face. “I can’t seem to think—” he said.
“You ’re tired out,” said John promptly. “Did you have any breakfast?”
“Yes, I had—I think I had it—”
“What was it?”
He ran his hand across his forehead. Then he looked at John. “I can’t seem to think,” he said helplessly. “I think I ’m sleepy.... I’m so sleepy....”
The young man helped him to the couch and stood looking down at him. The eyelids had fallen and he seemed in a light slumber; his face still wore its seamed and exhausted look, but the anxiety had left it He breathed lightly like a child.
After a minute John turned away and gave himself to the work of the office. No one came to break the quiet, and the figure on the couch did not stir.