Drew advanced, rather timidly, into the tent.
"Don't shrink so," ordered Tom. "I'm not going to spank you, though some one ought to. Give me your wrist."
Reade took the thin little wrist between his thumb and finger, feeling for the pulse.
"Are you a doctor?" sneered Drew.
"No; but generally I've intelligence enough to know whether a pulse is slow or fast, full or weak."
"But——-"
"Keep quiet," Tom commanded, as he drew out his watch. His face expressed nothing in particular as he kept the tip of his forefinger against the radial artery at the boy's wrist.
"Fine," commented the young engineer, a few moments later, as he let go the captive wrist.
"Good pulse, eh?" questioned Alf Drew.
"Great!" quoth Tom. "Fine and wiry, and almost skips some beats. I'm not much of an authority on such subjects, but I believe a boy of your age ought to have a normal pulse. Where do you expect to wind up with your 'makings' and your cigarettes?"