Either the pipe, or the creature
on it, exercised some singular fascination. I seemed, without an instant's
warning, to be passing into some land of dreams. I saw the beast, which
was perched upon the bowl, writhe and twist. I saw it lift itself bodily
from the meerschaum.
II
"Feeling better now?"
I looked up. Joseph Tress was speaking.
"What's the matter? Have I been ill?"
"You appear to have been in some kind of swoon."
Tress's tone was peculiar, even a little dry.
"Swoon! I never was guilty of such a thing in my life."
"Nor was I, until I smoked that pipe."
I sat up. The act of sitting up made me conscious of the fact that I had
been lying down. Conscious, too, that I was feeling more than a little
dazed. It seemed as though I was waking out of some strange, lethargic
sleep--a kind of feeling which I have read of and heard about, but never
before experienced.
"Where am I?"
"You're on the couch in your own room. You _were_ on the floor; but I
thought it would be better to pick you up and place you on the
couch--though no one performed the same kind office to me when I was on
the floor."
Again Tress's tone was distinctly dry.
"How came _you_ here?"
"Ah, that's the question." He rubbed his chin--a habit of his which has
annoyed me more than once before. "Do you think you're sufficiently
recovered to enable you to understand a little simple explanation?" I
stared at him, amazed.
Pages:
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416