But that was not a matter for the colonel to bother about NOW.

He was doing well; he had slept nearly thirty hours; there was no fever, he must continue to doze off the exhaustion of his powerful stimulant, and he, the doctor, would return later in the afternoon.
Perhaps it was his very inability to grasp in that exhausted state the full comprehension of the doctor's meaning, perhaps because the physical benumbing of his brain was stronger than any mental excitement, but he slept again until the doctor reappeared.

"You're doing well enough now, colonel," said the physician, after a brief examination of his patient, "and I think we can afford to wake you up a bit, and even let you move your arm.

You're luckier than poor Tom Higbee, who won't be able to set his leg to the floor for three weeks to come.

I haven't got all the buckshot out of it yet that Jack Dumont put there the other night." Courtland started slightly.