“Your room is back here,” he said, with a motion of his thumb.
“No, wait,” I protested. “Let’s talk about yourself first. What’s wrong?”
“I’ve been sick.”
“Haven’t you a doctor? If not, I’ll get one.”
At this he started up with the first sign of animation he had shown.
“No, Tom, don’t do it. Doctors can’t help me now. Besides, I hate them. I’m afraid of them.”
His voice trailed away, and I took pity on his agitation. I decided to let the question of doctors drop for the moment.
“As you say,” I assented carelessly.
Without more ado, I followed him into my room, which adjoined his and was furnished in much the same fashion. But there were two windows, one on each side, looking out on the vacant lots. Consequently, there was more light, for which I was thankful. In a far corner I noticed a door, heavily bolted.
“There’s one more room,” said Arthur, as I deposited my belongings. “One that you’ll like. But we’ll have to go through the bath-room.”