CHAPTER X
A WALK BESIDE THE LAKE
"THE name seems like Sherrill," the interne agreed. "He said it before when we had him on the table up-stairs; and he has said it now twice distinctly—Sherrill."
"His name, do you think?"
"I shouldn't say so; he seems trying to speak to some one named Sherrill."
The nurse waited a few minutes. "Yes; that's how it seems to me, sir. He said something that sounded like 'Connie' a while ago, and once he said 'Jim.' There are only four Sherrills in the telephone book, two of them in Evanston and one way out in Minoota."
"The other?"
"They're only about six blocks from where he was picked up; but they're on the Drive—the Lawrence Sherrills."
The interne whistled softly and looked more interestedly at his patient's features. He glanced at his watch, which showed the hour of the morning to be half-past four. "You'd better make a note of it," he said. "He's not a Chicagoan; his clothes were made somewhere in Kansas. He'll be conscious some time during the day; there's only a slight fracture, and— Perhaps you'd better call the Sherrill house, anyway. If
