“But what did he say?” Sandy demanded impatiently.
“Nothing,” answered Dick. “Merely muttered something under his breath, glared at me, then walked back behind the last team. He’s sulking there now.”
“I can’t understand it,” Sandy wagged his head. “He volunteered his services and yet doesn’t want to do his part. What would you say is wrong with him, doctor?”
“Haven’t properly diagnosed his case yet,” grinned Brady, “although his symptoms indicate a very serious condition. Offhand, I’d say that he required immediate treatment.”
“He may get it,” Dick hinted darkly.
Sandy laughed. “Places you in a kind of bad position, doesn’t it, old chap? First thing you know, you’ll lose face with the rest of this outfit. That Nitchie is setting a mighty bad example.”
“Exactly what I think,” appended Brady. “You’re in charge here, aren’t you, Dick?”
“Yes,” Dick nodded. “Worse luck. If it comes to a show-down of course, I’ll have the police behind me. Still, I hate trouble. Sometimes I think I’ll let Mr. Lamont have his own way, and again I feel that to do that will only breed discontent among the others.”
Dick turned and looked up into the physician’s face.
“You’re older than I am, doctor. What would you suggest?”