In his state it took him some time to go and fetch them; he was nearly suffocating when he came creeping back, his shoulders up to his ears.

“Stop! I see something else. Is that medicine-bottle yours? There—catching the sun.”

“It was.”

“Bring it.”

“It's empty.”

“Bring it!”

Pocket obeyed. The strange man was standing [pg 48] on a chair behind the palings, waiting to help him over, with a wary eye upon the path. But no third creature was in sight except the insensate sprawler in the dew. Pocket surmounted the obstacle, he knew not how; he was almost beside himself in the throes of his attack. Later, he feared he must have been lifted down like a child; but this was when he was getting his breath upon a seat. They had come some little distance very slowly, and Pocket had received such support from so muscular an arm as to lend colour to his humiliating suspicion.

His grim companion spoke first.

“Well, I'm sorry for you. But I feel for your doctor too. I am one myself.”

Pocket ignored the somewhat pointed sta