"
"Blastoderm's drunk," said one man. But the Blastoderm was not drunk. He
looked at us in a dazed sort of way, and began motioning with his hands in the
half light as the clouds closed overhead.
Then--with a scream:--
"What is it?--Can't--reserve--attainable--market--obscure--"
But his speech seemed to freeze in him, and--just as the lightning shot two
tongues that cut the whole sky into three pieces and the rain fell in
quivering sheets--the Blastoderm was struck dumb. He stood pawing and champing
like a hard-held horse, and his eyes were full of terror.
The Doctor came over in three minutes, and heard the story. "It's aphasia," he
said. "Take him to his room. I KNEW the smash would come." We carried the
Blastoderm across, in the pouring rain, to his quarters, and the Doctor gave
him bromide of potassium to make him sleep.
Then the Doctor came back to us and told us that aphasia was like all the
arrears of "Punjab Head" falling in a lump; and that only once before--in the
case of a sepoy--had he met with so complete a case. I myself have seen mild
aphasia in an overworked man, but this sudden dumbness was uncanny--though, as
the Blastoderm himself might have said, due to "perfectly natural causes.
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