“Much you know about it. Just as well you don't mean to try, for it would take a mighty long pull and strong pull to get you in. Business would suit you better, and you and Ed would make a capital partnership. Devlin, Minot, & Co. sounds well, hey, Gus?”
“Very, but they are such good-natured chaps, they'd never get rich. By the way, Ed came home at noon to-day sick. I met him, and he looked regularly knocked up,” answered Gus, in a sober tone.
“I told him he'd better not go down Monday, for he wasn't well Saturday, and couldn't come to sing Sunday evening, you remember. I must go right round and see what the matter is;” and Jack jumped up, with an anxious face.
“Let him alone till to-morrow. He won't want any one fussing over him now. We are going for a pull; come along and steer,” said Frank, for the sunset promised to be fine, and the boys liked a brisk row in their newly painted boat, the “Rhodora.”
“Go ahead and get ready, I'll just cut round and ask at the door. It will seem kind, and I must know how Ed is. Won't be long;” and Jack was off at his best pace.
The others were waiting impatiently when he came back with slower steps and a more anxious face.
“How is the old fellow?” called Frank from the boat, while Gus stood leaning on an oar in a nautical attitude.
“Pretty sick. Had the doctor. May have a fever. I didn't go in, but Ed sent his love, and wanted to know who beat,” answered Jack, stepping to his place, glad to rest and cool himself.
“Guess he'll be all right in a day or two;” and Gus pushed off, leaving all care behind.
“Hope he won't have typhoid—that's no joke, I tell you,” said Frank, who knew all about it, and did not care to repeat the experience.