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I WAS lying in bed [thus began the tale told me by my fellow traveler, in the smoking car of the train]. The only other occupant of the room was a young woman in the cap and conventional costume of a nurse. From this, I promptly and rightly assumed that I was in a hospital; but to determine why this should be, I was considerably at a loss. My head ached; in fact, I ached more or less all over, and my thoughts did not collect themselves readily. A few minutes before (so I thought) I had been walking along the street, in the best of health. I had never been a victim of heart trouble or any other kind of attacks. I had never fainted in my life. With the exception of once, years before, when I had been somewhat banged up in a football scrimmage, I had never been sick. I was ruggedly healthy and considered myself above all things normal. Why, then, this?
Of a sudden, it came to me: the dimly lit, seemingly deserted street—not quite deserted, either; for now I remembered that as I started across it, there was another man coming toward me from the opposite side. Then, an automobile, without any warning, almost silently, had swung round the corner. I leapt to avoid it. The other pedestrian leapt also, as ill luck would have it, to the same side as I. We collided, and before we could recover, were struck. Beyond or after that, I could remember nothing.
"What time is it?" I asked of the girl.
"Ten-twenty," she answered.
"Ten-twenty! Ten-twenty, did you say? Why, how can that be? It was after 11 when—when it happened."
"You have been unconscious until just a little while ago. It is not surprizing that you have not realized the passage of time."
Of course! What a bonehead I was not to have noticed it before! It was daylight. Ten-twenty a. m.! Nearly twelve hours!
Rising upon my elbow, in spite of my bruises, "What day is this?" I shot at her.
"Wednesday, the fourteenth."
"Wednesday? Ten-twenty? Good Lord! There's a directors' meeting today. I must get out of here, at once."
"You cannot leave today," said the girl, calmly, and with what she evidently intended to be finality.
"Cannot? Why not? What is the extent of the damage?"
25
