"Why didn't you come home?" asked Mr. Henderson.
"Oh, I didn't want to make any trouble and delay work on the projectile. I figured that I could be with you in a few hours, and you wouldn't worry. But they insisted that I must stay in the hospital when they got me there. Then I lost consciousness again, and couldn't manage to let you know where I was. But I'm all right now."
"Why didn't you wait for me at the barn, when I went to send the telegram, as you promised you would?" asked Jack, who felt a little hurt at his chum's neglect.
"Did I promise to wait for you at some barn?"
"Yes; don't you remember?" and Jack gazed at the bandaged figure in surprise.
"Oh, yes—I—I guess I do. But I want to go to bed now," and pulling the cloths closer about his face the injured one started from the apartment.
"Here. That's not the way up to your room. The stairs are over here," called Jack, for he saw the newcomer taking the wrong direction.
"Oh, yes. Guess my mind must be wandering," and with an uneasy laugh the injured one turned about. They heard him going up stairs, and a little later Jack followed. He found that Mark's room was not occupied.
"Hi, Mark! Where are you?" he called, in some alarm.
"Here," was the answer, and the voice came from Jack's own apartment.