My companion looked at me thoughtfully.
“Ewart,” he said, and solemnly shook his head, “you have brought me to the very thing that made me say my theory was exploded.”
“What thing?” I asked. “Surely my fainting can’t have made any difference to conclusions you had already come to?”
“But then you see,” my friend replied, “you didn’t faint. And if I had not seen you were in difficulties you would probably never have recovered.”
“Didn’t faint?” I exclaimed. “Well, I don’t know what the medical term for it is, and I daresay there are several technical phrases for the girlish business I went through. That idea of being dumb was simply imagination, but I assure you it was just what I should call a fainting fit.”
“I don’t want to alarm you if you’re not feeling well,” he began apologetically.
“Go on,” I urged. “I’m as fit as I ever was.”
“Well,” the young specialist responded, in a serious tone, “if you want to know the truth, Ewart, you were suffocated.”
“Suffocated!” I shouted, jumping to my feet. “What in heaven’s name do you mean?”
“I can’t tell you exactly what I mean because I don’t know, but yours was certainly not an ordinary fainting fit. To put the whole thing in non-medical terms, you were practically drowned on dry land!”