“He is feeling for his watch,” said Allbright, in an agitated whisper.  His wits were sharpened with regard to Carroll’s watch.  Carroll’s coat and vest had been removed, and were hanging over a chair.  Allbright at once got the dollar watch from its pocket and carried it over to the sick man.  “Here is your watch, Mr. Carroll,” he said, and his voice was full of both respectful and tender inflections.

A sob was distinctly heard from Allbright’s sister out in the sitting-room.  The woman from down-stairs, the department clerk’s mother, was now with her.

“He wants to see if his watch is safe, poor man,” said she, in a tearful voice, and Allbright’s sister whimpered again.

“It’s a wonder some of them kids didn’t swipe it,” said the down-stairs woman, and Allbright’s sister was conscious of a distinct thrill of disgust in the midst of her excitement and pity.  She was of a superior sort to the down-stairs woman, and she often told her brother she could not get used to folks using such language.

Poor Carroll was looking dimly at his watch, and Allbright at once divined that he could not distinguish the time without his eye-glasses.  He therefore leaned over him—­his own spectacles were on his nose—­and told him the time.

“It’s almost seventeen minutes past twelve, Mr. Carroll,” he said.

Carroll made a movement to rise, then subsided with a groan.  “Where am I?” he inquired, feebly, with a bewildered stare around the strange room.  Directly opposite him hung a large crayon portrait of Allbright’s father, a handsome man with a reverend beard like a prophet, and his eyes became riveted upon that.

“You are in my house, Mr. Carroll,” said Allbright, with a tender, caressing motion of his hand towards him, like a woman.

“You had a fall on the ice, Mr. Carroll,” said the physician, in a tone of soothing explanation, “but you will soon be as good as new.”

“How far up-town?” inquired Carroll, still gazing at the portrait, which had an odd hardness of outline, and appeared almost as if carved out of wood.

“You are at One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street,” replied Allbright.  “You are at my house, Mr. Carroll.  You fell right out here, and I had you carried in here.”

Carroll tried again to rise, and made a despairing gasp.  “Oh, my God!” he said.  “I have lost the last train out.  There isn’t time to get down to the ferry, and there is that poor child all alone there, and she won’t know—­”

“You can send a telegram,” suggested the doctor.  “Now, Mr. Carroll, don’t get excited.”

“She will be all right,” said Allbright.

“What is it?” asked the down-stairs woman, coming to the door.

“His daughter is all alone in the house, I guess, and he’s worried about her,” explained Allbright.

“There ain’t nothin’ goin’ to eat her, if she is, is there?” inquired the down-stairs woman.