“No, his heart is beating. Strange! No blood, no wound,” said Paul.
“Black-jack!” grunted the cabby. “Does the trick very neat, without blood or broken bones. Friend of yours?”
“No, not exactly. But we will bring him along.”
Together they lifted the unconscious man into the cab and set off for Paul’s boarding house. By the time they had arrived there, Tussock was able to speak and to help himself to a certain extent. They reached Paul’s room with difficulty and against the protests of the landlady, who declared that she “kept a respectable house and didn’t want no toughs round here.”
“Toughs?” cried the cabby indignantly. He had just pocketed his fare from Paul. “What you givin’ us? Don’t you know a gentleman when you see him? This chap has had an accident.” Then, in an aside, he added, “He’s all right, and he’ll make it all right with you too, old girl, if you play up properly.”
Impelled by the suggestion, the landlady did what experience had taught her was necessary, and soon Paul had Dan Tussock deposited in his own bed, where he lay snoring heavily till morning.
He wakened late and sat up, asking in a loud voice and with an indignant oath, “Where am I? What house is this?”
“You are in my room, and I hope feeling better,” said Paul.
“Better? I have got a head and a throat burning like hell fire. Who are you, young fellow, and how did I get into your room?”
Then Paul told him the tale of his last night’s adventure, Tussock staring at him with dull red eyes.