"Why on earth didn't you tell me that before?" Tom gasped.
"Why, because, sir, I allowed that a brainy young man like you would know just what to do a heap better than I would."
"Tim, do you know anything about temperatures and drugs?"
"Maybe I'd remember a little bit," Walsh answered modestly. "It's twelve years since I was in the Army."
Tom brought the medicine case with trembling hands.
"To think that, all the time," he muttered, "I've been longing for a doctor's visit, and yet I've had a man in camp who's almost a doctor."
"No, sir; a long way from that," protested Tim Walsh. "And, besides,
I've forgotten a whole lot that I used to know."
Tom rapidly explained how he had been treating Hazelton, according to the directions in the little medicine book. Tim listened gravely. "Was that all right, Tim?" Tom asked, breathlessly, when he had finished.
"I should say about all right, sir."
"Tim, what shall I do next?"