My friend took my arm and led me into his sitting-room, and pressed me gently on the sofa. Then he brought me a stiff brandy and soda, and sat beside me in silence for a few minutes.
“Feel better, old boy?” he asked presently.
“Yes, thanks, Den,” I answered. “I’m sorry to be such a nuisance.”
“Tell me,” he said, “when you feel well enough.” But I lay, and closed my eyes, for I was dog-tired, and could not bring myself to speak even to Dennis of the specialist’s terrible verdict. And soon Nature asserted herself, and I fell into a deep sleep, which was the best thing I could have done. When I awoke I was lying in bed, in total darkness, in Dennis’s extra room. I sat up, and called out in my surprise, for I had been many miles away in my slumbers, and my first hope was that the whole adventure had been a hideous nightmare. But Dennis, hearing my shout, walked in to see if I wanted anything.
“Now, how do you feel?” he asked, as he sat on the side of the bed.
“Did you carry me in here and put me to bed?” I asked idly.
“You certainly didn’t look like walking, and I thought you’d be more comfortable in here,” he laughed.
“Great Scott, man!” I cried, suddenly remembering his heart trouble, “you shouldn’t have done that, Dennis. You promised me you’d take no risks.”
“Heavens! that was nothing,” he declared emphatically. “You’re as light as a feather. There was no risk in that.”
Indeed, as events were to prove, it was only the first of many, but being ignorant of that at the time, I contented myself with pointing out that very few feathers turned the scale at twelve-stone-three.