“That’s queer,” he remarked. “I didn’t feel at all tired when I sat down here. And I was mightily interested in the book.”
“One might almost think you had been doped,” declared Jim. “I never saw you so dead to the world. Could it be anything you’ve eaten or drunk that’s affected you?”
“Haven’t touched anything since we ate lunch together,” replied Joe. “You had substantially the same things I did, and you’re none the worse for it.”
“It’s mighty odd,” commented Jim.
“It sure is,” agreed Joe. “And the more so because I fell asleep in just the same way the other day, although that time I waked up of my own accord. Guess I must be getting old,” he added as a facetious touch to relieve Jim’s anxiety and reassure himself as well.
“I wonder if it’s anything in the apartment itself,” said Jim. “Perhaps there’s sewer gas or illuminating gas or something of the kind escaping from a pipe and sifting into the room. Perhaps we ought to speak to the management and have an inspection made.”
“That might not be a bad idea,” agreed Joe. “If anything is shown to be wrong, we’ll have to shift our quarters.”
He started to rise from his seat but the hand that he placed on the arm of the chair bent under him and he almost lost his balance.
“That old wing of mine seems to have gone on the blink,” he remarked. “Crumples up like a chocolate éclair.”
“Let me rub it for you,” said Jim, and forthwith set to work until the strength came back into the arm.