Then a great light flamed
up before me in which the struggling, shouting mob, the close hall and
room, and the universe itself melted away, and I was alone.
The next impression that came to me was that of a voice from an
immeasurable distance.
"He's coming to," it said; and then beside it I heard a strange wailing
cry.
"What is it?" I asked, trying to sit up. My voice seemed to come from
miles away, and to belong to some other man.
"That's it, you're all right," said the voice encouragingly, and about
the half of Niagara fell on my face.
I sat up and beheld the room whirling about, the walls, the furniture,
and the people dancing madly together to a strange wailing sound that
carried me back to the dens of Chinatown. Then the mists before my eyes
cleared away, and I found that I was on the floor of the inner bedroom
and Wainwright had emptied a water-jug over me. The light of a small
kerosene lamp gave a gloomy illumination to the place. Lockhart and
Fitzhugh leaned against the door, and Wilson bent with Wainwright over
me. The boy was sitting on the bed, crying shrilly over the melancholy
situation.
I tried to stagger to my feet.
"Wait a bit," said Wainwright. "You'll get your head in a minute."
I felt acutely conscious already that I had my head. It seemed a very
large head that had suffered from an internal explosion.
"What is it?" I asked, gathering my scattered wits. "What has
happened?"
"We've been licked," said Wainwright regretfully.
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