"There he is!" exclaimed the first of the visitors; and I could imagine with what contempt he pointed to me. "All beaten up and abraded from knocking about inside the tube!"
"No wonder!" declared a second. "He must have gone through at least two miles of pipe!"
"When did you say he would be well again?" I heard the powerful voice of the Manager. "Naturally, we can do nothing until then!"
"They say he'll be out in a few wakes," returned the first. "Only suffering from shock, along with surface scratches and bruises."
"Good!" bawled the Manager. "It would be awkward if he had been turned over!"
Oh, would these men never go away and leave me in peace? In despair, I turned toward them, and opened my mouth to speak. Alas!—they would not let me get a word in edgeways!
But what was this that they were saying? Could I believe my ears? Or was I only dreaming?
"It was a wonderful performance," one of the ventilating employees was declaring. "Yes, a wonderful performance! Personally, I never saw anything like it. To creep for miles through the ventilation tubes, all the way from his office to ours! To dust them out and brush away all obstructions, at the risk of his life! Why, I assure you, Go Grabl, it was heroism! We were all dumbfounded! The best of it was he succeeded! He repaired the ventilation! From the moment he left the duct, the air currents were working properly again!"
Could it be that I was not dreaming, after all?