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He awakened
instantly then. His eyes? Why, they had bothered him a little all day
yesterday. Was there something the matter with them?
He got up, raised the shade and looked in the glass. They looked badly
irritated, both of them. They felt wretchedly; he could scarcely keep
looking into the glass. Then leaning over the dressing table, he looked
more closely. He thought he saw something he did not like. He took a hand
mirror and went to the window. He could see better now, and the better
light verified the other one. It was true that in the corner of one eye
there was a drop of pus. In the other there was a suggestion of the same
thing.
He began to dress, proceeding slowly, his brows knitted, evidently
thinking about something, and worried. Then he opened a drawer, took out
a handkerchief, got the drop of pus from his eye and arranged the
handkerchief for preserving it.
He would find out about that, and the sooner the better! He did not like
it. He would see an oculist, too, this morning.


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