“Well, we’ll see how the ligaments get along,” was all the satisfaction the doctor would give the sufferer.
Tom and Sid remained with their chum, and, after the physician had left, they made all sorts of insane propositions to Phil with a view of making him more comfortable.
“Shall I read Greek to you?” offered Sid. “Maybe it would take your mind off your trouble.”
“Greek nothing,” replied Phil with a smile. “Haven’t I troubles enough without that?”
“If I had some cheese I would make a Welsh rarebit,” Tom said. “I used to be quite handy at it; not the stringy kind, either.”
“Get out, you old rounder!” exclaimed Sid. “Welsh rarebit would be a fine thing for an invalid, wouldn’t it?”
“Well, maybe fried oysters would be better,” admitted Tom dubiously. “I could smuggle some in the room, only the measly things drip so, and Proc. Zane has been unusually active of late in sending his scouts around.”
“I’ll tell you what you can do, if you want to,” spoke Phil.
“What’s that?” asked Tom eagerly.