"Too late, Johnson," I called, trying hard to be gay, though I
felt anything but like it. "Thank you, old man, for staying with
me. But I'm afraid to stop. You're stronger than I am this
morning--and besides you can run faster. I'm afraid you'll drag me
back."
He did try to do it, but with a great effort of will-power I
persuaded him to let me go. Out in the open air, too, it seemed to
do me good. The policeman who had been stationed before the house
gazed at me as though he saw a ghost, then grinned encouragingly.
Still, I was glad that the laboratory was only a few blocks away,
for I was all in by the time I got there, and hadn't even energy
enough to reply to Kennedy's scolding.
He was working over a microscope, while by his side stood in
racks, innumerable test-tubes of various liquids. On the table
before him lay the lock of our door which he had cut out after he
gave me the sleeping draught.
"What was it?" I asked. "I feel as if I had been on a bust,
without the recollection of a thing."
He shook his head as if to discourage conversation, without taking
his eyes off the microscope through which he was squinting. His
lips were moving as if he were counting. I waited in impatient
silence until he seemed to have finished.
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