“Look at his clothes, boys.”
“Jerusalem! he’s been robbed.”
Then they begin their efforts to bring him to his senses; partly for humanity’s sake, quite as much that they may gratify their curiosity.
“He’s dead, I reckon.”
“No; only smothered.”
“Stand back there; give us air.”
“Let’s have some water.”
“No, brandy.”
“Look; he’s coming to.”
He is “coming to”. He shudders convulsively, gropes about with his hands and feebly raises his head. Then respiration becomes freer; he draws in a deep breath, sits up and looks about him. He is bewildered at first; then memory reasserts herself. He sees the now almost-demolished tenement, the crowd of eager faces, and notes the fact that he is free, unfettered. He rises to his feet, and unmindful of the questions eagerly poured upon him, gazes slowly about him.