“But, Phil, old fellow,” Ed broke in, “didn’t you understand that I was only joking?”
Ed asked the question with a tender solicitude to which Phil responded promptly.
“Of course I did,” he replied. “You always do your share in everything, and sometimes more. But I don’t think you understand. You know we started this thing for you. I don’t know—maybe you’ll never get well if we don’t do our best to make you—” but Phil had choked up by this time, and he broke away from the group and went down by the river. A little later Ed joined him there and, grasping his hand, said:—
“I understand, old fellow.”
“No, you don’t; at least not quite,” replied the boy, who had now recovered control of his voice. “You see it’s this way. You and I are twins. You’re some years older than I am, of course, but we’ve always been twins just the same.”
“Yes, I understand all that, and feel it.”
“No, not all,” persisted the younger boy. “You see I’ve got all the health there is between us, and it isn’t fair. If you should—well, if anything should happen to you, I’d never forgive myself for not finding out some way of dividing health with you—”
“But, my dear brother—” broke in Ed.
“Don’t interrupt me, now,” said Phil, almost hysterically, “because I must tell you this so that you will understand. When we made up this scheme and you fellows chose me captain, I got to thinking how much depended on me. There was the cargo, representing other people’s money, and I was responsible for that. There was the safety of the boat and crew, and that depended upon me, too. But these weren’t the heavy things to me. There was your health! That depended on me in a fearful way. I felt that I must find out what was best for you to do and then make you do it.” He laughed a little. “That sounds funny, doesn’t it? The idea of my ‘making’ you do things!—Never mind that. I went to Dr. Gale—”
“What for?” asked Ed, in astonishment at this new revelation of the change in Phil’s happy-go-lucky ways.