The force and shock of the fall had stunned him, but it was not long before he began to rally and look about him.
As he sat up, rubbing his confused head and trying to realize what had happened to him, Doctor Hoyt glanced curiously from him to Geoffrey.
Both were dressed in evening suits, both were very pale, and their resemblance to each other was something wonderful.
“I do not wonder that the scamp succeeded in his villainous scheme,” the physician said, in an aside, to Mr. Huntress. “I never saw twins that were more of an exact counterpart of each other.
“Well, how do you find yourself now?” he added, in his abrupt, professional way, turning to Everet.
“I believe my shoulder is sprained,” he replied, cringing with pain, as he attempted to move his left arm.
“Any peculiar faintness at the stomach—any internal pain?”
“No, I reckon not; I have hardly come to myself yet, though.”
The doctor made another examination.
“You’ll do,” he said, as he completed it; “there are no bones broken or out of joint, and if there was anything very wrong inside it would begin to show itself. It’s lucky for you that you haven’t a dislocated neck. The next time you want to play pugilist don’t choose a flight of stairs for your battle-ground. Now, if you’ll take my advice, you’ll make tracks for your hotel, give yourself a good rubbing all over with alcohol, and go to bed.”