Arth did something and the window went opaque.
"That's quite a gadget," I groaned. "If I didn't feel so lousy, I'd appreciate it."
Arth was sitting on the edge of the bed holding his bald head in his hands. "I remember now," he sorrowed. "You didn't have a hotel. What a stupidity. I'll be phased. Phased all the way down."
"You haven't got a handful of aspirin, have you?" I asked him.
"Just a minute," Arth said, staggering erect and heading for what undoubtedly was a bathroom. "Stay where you are. Don't move. Don't touch anything."
"All right," I told him plaintively. "I'm clean. I won't mess up the place. All I've got is a hangover, not lice."
Arth was gone. He came back in two or three minutes, box of pills in hand. "Here, take one of these."
I took the pill, followed it with a glass of water.
And went out like a light.