"It's all right as far as Spud is concerned," was the moody reply.
"What about Stanley, didn't you speak to him?"
"I did, but he is as mad as hops. He said if I was going to play that kind of jokes he didn't want anything to do with me," and Tom sank in an easy chair in the room. "Sam, I guess I put my foot in it that time. Stanley is a fine fellow and if he talks like that he's got a reason for it."
"He doesn't understand the situation, Tom. I'll speak to him as soon as I get a chance."
"No, don't do it. I told him how it was, but he won't believe it. And why should he? I'm all right, am I not? I'm not crazy, or anything like that, am I?" and Tom looked at his brother pleadingly. "I ought to know what I am doing."
"Of course you are not crazy, Tom. Nobody said you were. That crack on the head put you—well, a little out of sorts, that's all."
"If I thought I was going crazy, I'd—I'd—well I guess I'd jump overboard," said Tom, and he heaved a deep sigh. Then he very abruptly turned to the table, got out one of his text books, and commenced to study.