“Don’t take Sid,” Tom called after the big Californian. “He’s on training diet, too. Dutch has the digestion of an ostrich, and it won’t hurt him.”
“All right,” Frank retorted, and then Tom, together with Phil, prepared to turn in.
Tom was thinking of many things. Of his father’s troubles, of the possible outcome of the contests, and of his own chances. For the first time since he had begun to train extra hard, because of the necessity of taking Shambler’s place, Tom felt a little less “up to the mark” than usual. He was more tired than he had been in several weeks, and his stomach did not feel just right.
“I mustn’t overtrain,” he thought. “I can’t afford to go stale.”
He did not know what time it was when he awoke, but it must have been quite late, for Sid and Frank had been in some time. The unpleasant feeling in Tom’s stomach had increased, and he did not know whether it was hunger or indigestion.
“Guess I worked a little bit too hard to-day,” he reflected. “I’ll be all right in the morning.”
But he could not get to sleep again. He tossed restlessly on his pillow, first trying one side of the bed, and then the other.
“Hang it all, what’s the matter with me?” he asked himself. “Guess I’ll get up and take a drink of water.”
He moved quietly, so as not to disturb any of his chums, but Sid, who was a light sleeper, heard him.