CHAPTER VIII.

When Sam regained consciousness it was to find himself on a couch in his uncle's home, with the odor of ammonia in his nostrils. For a couple of minutes he lay very still, collecting his scattered senses, and then, as the clouds that darkened his brain cleared away, the events of the night dawned upon his memory.

Two men were in the room conversing in low tones. They were standing near the dressing-case, back of the couch, which had been drawn out to the middle of the room to facilitate examination of his injuries. One of the speakers he recognized by the voice as his uncle. The other he soon made out to be the family doctor.

"Then you are quite satisfied he is not badly hurt?"

"So far as I have been able to examine him, yes. The concussion, when he struck the hard roadbed, produced insensibility. The cut of the cuticle covering the left parietal bone, just above the ear, is not dangerous, since there is no fracture. I do not anticipate any serious result, fortunately. It might have been worse--it might have been worse!"

"Quite true; still we should have more confidence in his recovery if we were certain the worst has passed."

"All passed, Uncle--I guess so!" spoke up Sam, in cheery tones, and he sat up on the couch.

"Ha, ha, Sam, my boy; not so fast. Glad to hear your voice again, but you must rest; you must rest. You need it. The doctor insists," and Mr. Harris hastened to his side to urge him again to lie down.

Nevertheless Sam arose to his feet and remarked: "All right, Uncle! A little sore up there," and he motioned to the sore side of his head. "But that's all--I guess."

"You must avoid excitement," cautioned the doctor. "And I advise you at once to take to your bed and remain there until I make a thorough diagnosis of your case, which I shall do in the morning."

"Not if I know it. Not much--I guess not!" mentally noted Sam.

Turning to Mr. Harris, he asked: "How long have I been unconscious, Uncle, and who brought me home?"

The question was put by Sam with an eagerness bordering on excitement.

It was noticed by both the gentlemen.

"I insist that you go to bed, Sam," pleaded Mr. Harris.

"The very best thing you can do, sir," added the doctor.

"Of course, Uncle, I shall do so to please you; but the only soreness I feel is on the side of my head, and I've often felt worse. But you have not answered my questions."

"You were unconscious for about two hours. My Lord Beauchamp brought you home in an automobile. It seems he was returning from a spin out on the Barnes road and accidentally ran his machine against you. He, like the perfect gentleman he is, immediately stopped and went to your aid. He recognized you and brought you home with all speed."

"Ah! Very queer!" exclaimed Sam, significantly.

"What is queer, Sam?" Mr. Harris interrogated, with a keen, penetrating, yet puzzled look.

"Why, that fellow," and Sam checked himself from making a grave charge, by indifferently remarking: "Oh, it seems queer to be run over," and then he looked up and continued: "Doctor, I thank you for your attention; good night.

"Uncle, good night; I'm going to bed."

"Very sensible, Sam; good night."

"This powder is an opiate and will act to produce sound sleep, which is very essential to counter the shock your nervous system has received," said the doctor, as he laid out the potion. "Take it, after getting into bed."

"Thank you," and Sam fingered the powder gingerly. "Good night, Doctor."

"Good night, sir."

As Mr. Harris and the doctor left the room Sam stood for a moment in deep thought, then muttered to himself: "That fellow out there near midnight. No lights or gong on his machine. Deliberately ran me down--and Virginia about! Did he know she was to be there?" He shook his head--"It looks queer." And then he lifted his eyes in a quick, resolute way.

"I'll be back in the park at dawn--I guess so!"

With that he flipped the opiate out of the window.