After that he remembered nothing.
He had hurt himself somehow in the row, that was clear.

A sudden terror ran through him.

"It's my right hand!--Good God! if I lost my hand!--if I couldn't play again!" He opened his eyes, trembling, and saw his little college room; his clothes hanging on the door, the photographs of his father and mother, of Chopin and Wagner on the chest of drawers.

The familiar sight reassured him at once, and his natural buoyancy of spirit began to assert itself.
"I suppose they got a doctor.

I seem to remember somebody coming.