Mike and Alvin assumed guard from nine to eleven, when they were to be succeeded by Chester and Gerald for the same period, and so on. In the bigness of his heart, Mike proposed that when the hour hand had crept close to the characters “XI,” they should stop the clock and continue on duty till daylight. While Alvin was quite willing, he decided it was better to obey in spirit and letter the instructions of their leader.
On the morrow, Jack’s face was flushed and he showed signs of a fever, but the doctor, when he arrived early in the day, assured his friends that that was to be expected and was not alarming. The leg was examined and pronounced in the best condition possible. The skilled cooks, of whom there were several in the troop, prepared the dishes prescribed by the doctor and filled the room with hope and cheerfulness.
“The conditions could not be more favorable,” said the medical man; “the weather is perfect, the air full of ozone, the water as pure as that at Poland Springs or even Squirrel Island, which goes Poland one degree better, and the companionship of the boys helps to make the situation ideal for a convalescing patient. Do you think of sending for his friends?”
“Far from it; Jack has a sister and widowed mother; he would not alarm them for the world; they will never know what has befallen him until he returns home.”
It may as well be said that this took place. Jack wrote to his loved ones every day and never were his letters more cheerful. He told them of the fragrant leafy woods, the song birds, the crystalline lake, the invigorating air, his keen appetite and nutritious food, and above all the genial companionship of the Boy Scouts.
“It strikes me, mother,” he wrote, “that for twenty youngsters to be thrown together as intimately as we have been, without a hasty word being spoken by a single one, and with all trying for a chance to do a good turn,—it strikes me, I say, that that’s pretty good:—what do you think?”
Mother agreed with her son.
All physicians will tell you that the best medicine for the sick room is cheerfulness. Moral sunshine has far more to do with ultimate recovery than all the medicaments that were ever compounded. Jack Crandall was never without optimistic companions. When he opened his eyes in the middle of the night, two of them sat almost within arm’s reach, ready to anticipate his slightest wish. Earlier in the evening, before the hour for retiring, the room was full of happy youngsters, who under the vigilant eye of Scout Master Hall never overdid things. All were in overflowing spirits, and Jack could not help imbibing the benign tonic.
As may be supposed, the particular star at these times was Mike Murphy. Never did he so abound with waggishness, humor and wit. When called upon, he sang songs always of a bright or humorous turn. He did not utilize hymns except on Sunday afternoons or evenings, and then he made sure they were not lugubrious but overflowing with Christian hope.
Not even Alvin and Chester, who thought they knew him well, suspected the limitless extent of their chum’s imagination. Some of the yarns he spun fairly took away his listener’s breath, while his whimsies in their way were irresistible. The solemn gravity with which his most humorous fancies were uttered added to their effect. Thus one evening as the Scouts were gathered in the room where Jack Crandall lay, he said: