that he had a friend somewhere. He remembered afterwards that the smell of roses was the first thing that was quite clear to him.
"Have I been ill?" he asked of the attendant who now entered the room, for, being an official and able to pay extra, Goodlough had not been placed in the open ward. His malady, too, had been of a nature that required close attention. At times he had been a raving maniac, screaming and calling for help to rescue the President from a burning car.
"Yes," said the nurse, coming cautiously to the sick bed, "you have been very ill. You're all right now, but you must not talk." In a little while the sick man fell asleep again, for the fever had left him very weak.
When he awoke on the following morning his mind was much stronger. His eyes wandered directly to the little table, and there was the vase with fresh flowers, and tears came to the eyes of the sufferer. He wondered, as the days went by, that none of his old friends came to see him. Vaguely he began to recall the past and all that had happened. He wondered how many were killed, but he dared not ask.
