“I don’t know,” replied he, “but I feel very strange. I’m dreadfully thirsty, and yet cannot go near the water.”
I now perceived that his eyes looked dull and leaden, and his body shook, as if every nerve and sinew were shattered and unstrung.
“Perhaps you have eaten something that has disagreed with you,” returned I.
“No,” added he; “I picked up a bone in our walk this morning, but that couldn’t injure me.”
“What’s that wound on your shoulder,” I asked.
“A mere scratch,” said he, “I got from a cur three days ago. He flew at me while passing a cottage garden, and just touched me on the skin.”
This intelligence struck me with the most inexpressible uneasiness, and I went to Trimbush, who was asleep, and waking him, repeated all I had seen and heard.
In a moment the old hound jumped from his posture of indolence, and approaching Gameboy, regarded him minutely.
“Yes,” replied Gameboy; “I never felt so queer before.”