"I'll see you in the morning, Newt," Matt added.
Young Prebbles paused to grasp Matt's hand.
"I appreciate what you have done for me, don't forget that," he said.
Matt gave the Comet into the care of a guard, then hunted up a place to sleep. His head had hardly dropped on the pillow before he was off for the land of dreams.
[CHAPTER XVI.]
CONCLUSION.
Doctors are not infallible, and the post doctor was no exception in this respect. All his experience and skill in diagnosing the ills of humanity, made him certain that Prebbles was booked for the other world. But there was an error—and, more than likely, that error was due to the arrival of Newt, who, it will be remembered, the doctor had wired it would be useless to send.
Prebbles was singing his Salvation Army hymns when Newt stepped into the sick room. All night he was marching the streets, in his disordered mind, pounding the cymbals and exhorting. Occasionally there crept into the oral wanderings a reference to the young man watching at the bedside.
Most unexpectedly—most unaccountably, to the doctor—a lucid moment came to Prebbles in the early morning. He saw his son, he recognized him, and he felt his handclasp. There was a smile on the old man's lips as he drifted back into his sea of visions.