Part 7 (1/2)
As the clutch tightened the man redoubled his efforts. His body writhed and he lashed out furiously with hands and feet. Blows rained upon the young man's head but he burrowed close, s.h.i.+elding his face--and always his grip tightened--the finger ends drawing closer and closer together.
He was only half-conscious now and the blows ceased to hurt. He experienced a sense of falling from a great height. His subconscious mind concentrated upon one idea--to maintain his hold. He must grip tighter and ever tighter.
The other ceased to struggle and lay limp beneath his body, but of this he knew nothing. The muscles of his arms were rigid, the clamped fingers, nearly together now, were locked, and all the world was a blank.
CHAPTER VIII
NEW FRIENDS
William Carmody opened his eyes to a sense of drowsy contentment and well-being. That the elegantly appointed room over which his glance traveled was not his room, disturbed him not at all.
He realized that his head was heavily bandaged and that the white-capped, linen-clad young woman at the window was a nurse. He watched her fingers move swiftly and surely in the fas.h.i.+oning of a small round of needlework.
Her face was turned from him but somehow he knew that she was young and, in a dreamy sort of way, hoped she was pretty. He thought of attracting her attention but decided to prolong the suspense--the chances were against it--so many girls are not.
He closed his eyes and tried to think. The fact that he was in a strange room with his head swathed in bandages, and that a young and possibly pretty nurse sat at the window, evidently for the purpose of ministering to him, suggested a hospital.
Young Carmody had never been in a hospital, but the atmosphere of this room did not in any way conform to his rather vague notion of what a hospital should be. There was no long row of white beds all just alike, nor white walls, nor tiled floors over which people tip-toed to and fro and talked in hurried, low-voiced tones; nor was the air laden with the smell of drugs which he had always a.s.sociated in his mind with such places. He must ask the nurse.
He was so drowsily comfortable that it was with an effort he opened his eyes. A rebellious lock of hair strayed from under her cap as she leaned over her work. The sunlight caught it and through the rich threads of its length shot tiny glints of gold.
”Ethel!” The name sprang involuntarily from his lips and even as he spoke he smiled at the thought. The girl laid aside her work and crossed to the bed.
”You called?” she asked, and the man realized vaguely that her voice was low and very pleasant.
”Yes--that is, no--I mean, you _are_ pretty, aren't you?” He smiled frankly up at her, and somehow the smile was contagious--she even blushed slightly.
”You must excuse me this time,” he continued, ”I must have been thinking out loud.”
”You seem to be a--well, a rather abrupt young man,” she smiled. ”But you must not try to think--yet. And my name is not Ethel.”
”Oh, that's all right. You can't help that, you know--I mean, I think your name is very pretty--whatever it is,” he floundered. ”The truth is, I don't seem to be able to say what I do mean. But really I am not a fool, although I don't suppose you will ever believe it.”
”There, you have talked quite enough. The doctor said you must rest and not get excited.” She smoothed the covers with little pats of her soft hands.
”But what I want to know,” he persisted, with a frown of perplexity, ”is, where am I?”
”You are all right,” she soothed. ”You are here.”
”But why am I here?”
”Because. Now go to sleep like a good boy. The doctor will be here before long and he will hold me responsible for your condition.”
Oddly enough her answers seemed eminently sufficient and satisfactory, and he closed his eyes and slept contentedly.
Hours later he was awakened by the opening of a door.
A tall, dark man, with a brown beard neatly trimmed to a point, entered closely followed by an elderly man who carried his arm in a sling, and whom young Carmody recognized as his fellow-pa.s.senger of the smoker.