The president's continuous rocking had slowed, then finally stopped, and the tenor of his speech had softened somewhat. Gabe propped a pillow behind him and took advantage of the relative calm to focus his ophthalmoscope beam onto the retinas of Stoddard's eyes—the only place in the body where arteries, veins, and nerves, specifically the large optic nerves, could be directly observed.

The arteries appeared healthy, with minimal, if any, signs of arteriosclerosis. The veins, too, seemed normal and were free from nicking where the arteries crossed on top of them—a finding that would have hinted at prolonged high blood pressure. But most important, the margins of the optic nerve in each eye were sharply demarcated. Blurring of those edges, known medically as papilledema, would have suggested a buildup of pressure on the brain from swelling, hemorrhage, or infection.

Reflexes normal. Extremities normal. Strength and range of motion good. Cranial nerves intact. Carotid pulses strong and free of bruits—the churning sound made by blood rushing past an obstruction. Heart rate down to 88—still high, but improved. Blood pressure down to 130 over 80. Lungs clear. Respiratory rate down from 40 to 24. Abdomen soft.

Stoddard's perspiring had slowed and the redness in his face had begun to abate.

"Drew, are you with me?"

"You're the best, pal. The salt of the earth."

"Drew, I want to ask you some questions. Will you answer them no matter how silly they might seem?"

"Go for it."

"What city are we in?"

"Why would you ask me something as—"

"Please, Drew, humor me."

"Washington, District-o of Columbi-o."

"The day?"

"Thursday. Doc, this is—"

"Please—"

"August the something. Maybe the seventeenth. Isn't that right, Carol, baby? The seventeenth?"

"That's right. You're doing great, honey." She looked over at Gabe. "He's coming around."

"Drew, how much is forty times twenty?"

"Eight hundred, of course. I was always good in math."

"A hundred minus thirty four."

"Sixty-six."

The answers came out almost before the questions were finished.

"Name the first eight presidents."

"Washington, Adams, Jefferson, Madison, Monroe, the other Adams, Jackson, how many is that?"

"Enough."

"Van Buren, the first Harrison, the one who croaked after thirty days, Tyler—"

"That's plenty, Drew."

"I can do them all. The latest one is me."

"I'm glad of that. The capital of Uruguay?"

"Montevideo. What do I win?"

"Most home runs by someone who never took steroids?"

"Aaron. You thought I'd say Ruth, didn't you?"

"No, Drew. I knew you'd get it right. You're doing better, my friend. Much better."

"Doc? I have one question."

"What is it?"

"The beasties that have been flying around here—the fairies and those round hairy things with the long tails—what do you make of them?"