Henry sat down beside him, a piece of paper in his hand and a pen, laid flat on a small tablet. He was filling out information on it busily. After a few minutes of this he handed it over to his uncle to read, pointing toward the bottom.
“Sign there,” he said.
John Paul did not sign, immediately. He read the text of it first. That was the only smart thing to do, he thought. Otherwise he might be caught out. After a moment, though, he signed it. It was just a bit of his medical history, nothing to be overly concerned about, after all. He was too tired for this sort of confusion. He handed it back with his signature at the bottom, and Henry walked up to the desk again, sliding the tablet and pen across.
“It will just be one moment,” the clerk said. John Paul didn’t look up, nor do anything to acknowledge that he’d heard. How embarrassing, he thought. There was nothing he could do about it, but the shame of having stumbled and fallen in front of his young bride was burning hot in his mind.
“Are you certain this is altogether necessary, Henry?”
“Wouldn’t you rather get well, uncle?”
John Paul made a face. “It’s not that; how do you know this man isn’t some sort of quack?”
“Don’t be silly, uncle. I did my research, of course, the minute you started to look to be in ill health.”
“Oh,” the Colonel replied, and fell silent. If there was no problem, then, he decided, there would be no logic in fighting it. He would just have to deal with it after all. No matter, though.
He thought for a moment. He had to give his nephew credit, after all. He was more capable than he might seem. John Paul looked over at him, sitting there on his right. He seemed somehow larger than he had, though he was still inches shorter than John Paul. He hadn’t grown, but John Paul thought he looked somehow more capable.
“The doctor will see you now,” the young clerk said. He guided John Paul into a small room down the hall with an examination table and a few chairs. He sat in the chair. The table made him feel uneasy. After a few minutes the doctor came in after him.
“Mister Foster?” he asked.
“John Paul Foster, yes,” answered the Colonel.
“What seems to be the trouble?”
Henry spoke up for him. John Paul hadn’t noticed him come in alongside, but there he was, standing by the door.
“He’s been having fainting spells, doctor. Some sort of exhaustion, I suppose he’d say?”
“Hmm.” The doctor looked at him and gestured toward the examination table. “Would you take your shirt off for me?”
John Paul did so. He was somewhat surprised to find that he didn’t look especially worse than he had months before. He had lost some muscle tone, of course, that was obvious from the difficulty he’d had with lifting the furniture. But he looked, to his own eye, far from some old pensioner whose body was giving out on him.
The doctor took a stethoscope and put it into his ears, pressing it against the Colonel’s chest.
“Breathe in for me?”—he did—”And out.”
He moved the stethoscope and they repeated the procedure.
“Well,” he announced after a moment. “Your breathing seems to be fine, at least.”
He reached for a torch and told John Paul to open his mouth. The doctor depressed his tongue and looked down his throat, next. He frowned.
“Hmm,” he said softly.
“What is it?” John Paul asked.
“Well,” the doctor answered dully, “I don’t know what it is.”
He stepped back and crossed his arms across his chest.
“I can’t figure it. Perhaps it’s something I haven’t detected, of course; I’ll proscribe some antibiotics just in case, but I don’t see any particular indication of anything at all. Have you been sick?”
“A bit of food poisoning, but nothing too extreme, no.”
“Hmm,” he said again.