"Oh, I feel much better," said Mr. Swift, and his voice certainly seemed stronger. "I can't imagine what happened. I came upstairs, after Tom had received a visit from the minister, and that's all I remember."
"The minister, father!" exclaimed Tom, in great amazement. "The minister wasn't here this evening! That was Mr. Gunmore, the aviation secretary. Don't you remember?"
"I don't remember any gentleman like that calling here to-night," Mr. Swift said blankly. "It was the minister, I'm sure, Tom."
"The minister was here last night, Mr. Swift," said the housekeeper.
"Was he? Why, it seems like to-night. And I came upstairs after talking to him, and then it all got black, and—and—"
"There, now; don't try to think," advised the doctor. "You'll be all right in the morning."
"But I can't remember anything about that aviation man," protested Mr. Swift. "I never used to be that way—forgetting things. I don't like it!"
"Oh, it's just because you're tired," declared the physician. "It will all come back to you in the morning. I'll stop in and see you then. Now try to go to sleep." And he left the room.
Tom followed him, Mrs. Baggert and Mr. Jackson remaining with the sick man.
"What is the matter with my father, Dr. Gladby?" asked Tom earnestly, as the doctor prepared to take his departure. "Is it anything serious?"