"Let me see them, please."
"There they are." Tom brought the box from his pocket. "They might as well be bread pills, or Gumley's red ones," and he grinned for a moment at the recollection of the trick played on William Philander Tubbs.
Sam took the box and looked at the directions carefully. "It says to take one three times a day when needed," he said. "You had better take one now, Tom. Come on."
"It won't do any good, Sam."
"Well, take one for me, that's a good fellow. Wait, I've got my pocket cup and I'll get some water." And he did so.
"Oh, dear, you're bound to feed me pills," sighed Tom, and made a wry face as he swallowed the one Sam handed him. Sam kept the box, making up his mind that he would play nurse after this.
"I guess we had better walk some more," said Tom, suddenly. "I hate sitting still. If we had the old Dartaway I'd take a sail from here to San Francisco, or some other far-off place."
"Wait a little, I'm tired," answered Sam, soothingly. "Just see those little fishes!" he said, pointing to the water under the bridge.
He made Tom get down and watch the fishes and bathed his brother's forehead. At first Tom was rather restless, but soon the pill seemed to take effect and he grew quiet.
"I'm getting awfully tired," he announced, presently. "I guess we had better be getting back, Sam."