lowered him into her lap and roused him, one arm about him, a hand laid on his cheek. “Tell me. What has happened?” He studied the concern in her eyes. “The handcuff,” she said. She raised his wrist to show it to him. “Who did that?”
He groped in the misty blankness of his brain. He frowned, and found the seat of pain in his forehead. She asked. “Were you arrested?”
He said, at last, faintly; “Yes.”
“For what? What had you done?”
He could not remember. He remembered that—that some one had told him—something. “I jumped,” he said. “I jumped off the train.”
“Why? . . . Why did you jump from a train?”
He raised himself a little and put a hand to his forehead. His head felt huge. “What ’s the matter with it?” he complained.
“You ’ve hurt yourself—when you jumped, perhaps.”
