Where was his comfortable feather pillow, familiarly sour-smelling and crumpled? Where was the sides-to-middled sheet, soft with age? And worse still, where was the cane-bottomed chair beside the bed, with the glass for his teeth and his tin of extra strong peppermints?Everything was wrong. The light was too bright. The ceiling was too clean and too far away. And now that he could focus his aching eyes, why were there other beds around him?He tried to sit up, but a pain in his head felled him like a log. After a little while, he managed to turn his head on the hard starched pillow and surveyed the occupant of the next bed through half-shut eyes. Outlined against the bright window, the man appeared simply as a dark hulk to Albert, but he was aware that he was being watched closely.'Comin' round then, Bert?' he said kindly, and Albert's heart sank still further. If it wasn't Ted Allen, who kept 'The Drovers' Arms' at Lulling Woods! And could he talk? Just his luck to be beside an old gas-bag like Ted Allen!
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