"Say," ejaculated the man. "I don't know you, You come here saying you're friends of Mr. Thornton's. How do I know what you are?"
"Well," Tentured Kennedy, "suppose I should also tell you I am a friend of the man who committed him."
"Of Dr. Thompson Lord?"
"Exactly. My friend here knows Dr. Lord very well, don't you, Walter?"
Thus appealed to I hastened to add, "Indeed I do." Then, improving the opening, I hastened: "Is this Mr. Thornton violent? I think this is one of the most quiet institutions I ever saw for so small a place."
The man shook his head.
"Because," I added, "I thought some drug fiends were violent and had to be restrained by force, often."
"You won't find a mark or a scratch on him, sir," replied the man. "That ain't our system."
"Not a mark or scratch on him," repeated Kennedy thoughtfully. "I wonder if he'd recognise me?"
"Can't say," concluded the man. "What's more, can't try. It's against the rules. Only your knowing so many he knows has got you this far. You'll have to call on a regular day or by appointment to see him, gentlemen."
There was an air of finality about the last statement that made Kennedy rise and move toward the door with a hearty "Thank you, for your kindness," and a wish to be remembered to "poor old Thornton."
As we climbed into the car he poked me in the ribs. "Just as good for the present as if we had seen him."
