“He is asleep now,” the one-armed soldier had said, before withdrawing, “and may not give you any trouble. If he should awake and try to hurt you, ring the bell.”
The bell-wires, _et cetera_, used when the building was a hotel, were still in good working order, and all that lent me courage was the bell-pull that hung down close to my ear, when I had taken a seat on a chair near the door.
I was just getting into an uncomfortable doze, when the patient waked up, awoke me, and raising up quietly in bed, remarked:
“I believe I’ll jump out of this window.”
He said it as coolly as a man in good health would say: “I believe I’ll take a walk.”
It was a third-story room, and the bed stood immediately by the window. I thought of the disastrous consequences of such a proceeding on the part of Thomas, and earnestly advised him not to think seriously of embarking in such a colossal enterprise. The window was raised about two feet, it being a warm night, and he gazed wistfully out into the sombre darkness.
“Don’t do it, Thomas,” said I, with earnestness. “We are at least thirty feet from the ground, and in your present condition it would not be judicious. Wait till you get well, at least.”
“_You_ jump out,” he suggested, turning and looking upon me with a wild stare.
He seemed to have just thought of it. What could be my excuse, for not taking a flying leap in the dark, I being in sound health—what there was of me?
I glanced furtively at the bell-pull, and replied.
“O no; not from that window. You see, that is a back window. The laundress has some clothes hung out to dry just below, and it might injure them. Besides, I am in the habit of doing my leaping from a fourth-story front window. You’ll always find, Thomas, that a man of refinement prefers a leap from a window of the fourth floor.”
He sat awhile, in a sort of thoughtful attitude while I kept one eye on the bell-cord, and the other on him; then, to my relief, he deliberately lay down again, drew the covers close up to his chin, and glided off into a gentle slumber.
I had no more trouble with him. Thomas got well, in the course of a month, left off drinking, and got to be a pretty sensible sort of fellow. The last time I saw him was one day, some months after I had left the hospital, when I returned to the old place on a brief visit. He was engaged in a four-hand game of euchre, and I observed, just as I arrived, that he held in his hand both bowers, ace, king and queen: would you believe it?——he had the temerity to play it “alone,” and the extraordinarily good luck to make “four times.”