Then he coughed, blinked his eyes, and sliding off the table, stood up.
He would have fallen, for he was as helpless as a scarecrow. But Charlie caught and supported him.
“Feel better now, do you?” asked the doctor’s son.
“Yes, kinder so; only I feel plaguey weak, and I’m stone cold.”
Charlie assisted him to the only chair in the surgery.
“What’s been the matter with me, and where am I? This is a doctor’s shop, isn’t it?” he added, looking around and observing the bottles and instruments.
“You were brought here this morning,” explained Charlie.
“This morning!” exclaimed the man, looking up at the lamp in its bracket. “And is it night now?”
“That’s what it is.”
“I must have been a long time out of my head, then, youngster,” he said, with a look of perplexity on his features.