"
When Dick lay down he was dully conscious of pain and headache,
that he did not feel well. Despite this, and a mind thronging
with memories and anticipations, he succumbed to weariness
and soon fell asleep.
It was light when he awoke, but a strange brightness seen through
what seemed blurred eyes. A moment passed before his mind worked
clearly, and then he had to make an effort to think. He was dizzy.
When he essayed to lift his right arm, an excruciating pain made
him desist. Then he discovered that his arm was badly swollen,
and the hand had burst its bandages. The injured member was red,
angry, inflamed, and twice its normal size. He felt hot all over,
and a raging headache consumed him.
Belding came stamping into the room.
"Hello, Dick. Do you know it's late? How's the busted fist
this morning?"
Dick tried to sit up, but his effort was a failure. He got about
half up, then felt himself weakly sliding back.
"I guess--I'm pretty sick," he said.
He saw Belding lean over him, feel his face, and speak, and then
everything seemed to drift, not into darkness, but into some region
where he had dim perceptions of gray moving things, and of voices
that were remote. Then there came an interval when all was blank.
He knew not whether it was one of minutes or hours, but after it
he had a clearer mind. He slept, awakened during night-time, and
slept again. When he again unclosed his eyes the room was sunny,
and cool with a fragrant breeze that blew through the open door.
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