President Cannon was blinking his eyes groggily. Or, rather, eye. The left one refused to do more than show a faint flicker of the lid.
"Hullo, Jamie," Dr. Frank said gently. "How d'you feel?" It took nerves of steel to show that tender composure. The drug should wear off quickly, but if Jim Cannon's mind was still fuzzy, and he said the wrong thing—
For a moment, the President said nothing as he tried to focus his right eye.
"Don't try to move, Mr. President," said the Navy doctor softly.
President Cannon smiled lopsidedly, the left side of his face refusing to make the effort. "Arright," he said, in a low, blurred voice. "Wha' happen', Frang?"
"Apparently," said Dr. Frank carefully, "you've had a little bit of a stroke, kid. Nothing to worry about. How do you feel?"
"Funny. Li'l dizzy. Don't hurt, though."
"Good. Fine. You'll be O.K. shortly."
The President's voice became stronger. "I'm glad you're here, Frank. Tell me—is it ... bad?"
"'Tain't good, kid," Dr. Frank said with a bedside grin. "You can't expect a stroke to put you in the best of health, now, can you?"