“Why, what's the matter, Steve?” demanded Gibbs in some surprise.
“I'm not feeling just right, that's all.”
The general vanished from his open door, but reappeared almost immediately with his hat.
“You ain't feeling right?” he repeated as he climbed in beside Landray. “What's wrong with you, Steve?”
“I seem to have taken cold,” said Stephen, still stiffly and thickly over the upturned collar of his coat. “I want to get to bed as quick as possible.”
“I guess that's where you should have been for the past hour,” said the general, surveying him critically. “You ain't got the least notion of taking care of yourself, Steve, you're doing yourself a rank injustice, exposing yourself this way!”
When they drove in at the barn Gibbs had to help him from the buggy or he would have fallen to the ground; he led him to a sheltered spot, then he drove the horse in out of the rain and tied it.
“I'll come back and take out; but first I'm going to get you to bed, Steve,” he said.
“I'm afraid—I think I'm going to be sick,” said Landray, and now his teeth were chattering.
“Why, Steve, you're wringing wet!” cried Gibbs, placing an arm about him to support him as he led him away to the house.