“You think you were dreaming?” Whalen asked.
“I was nutty for a couple of minutes, that’s sure.”
“I saw the tree struck,” said Whalen quietly, “and I saw it go over. The earth must have caved under you. The next thing I saw the tree was caught in the branches of another tree—it was almost down and slipping down every second. You must have been knocked silly. I got there before the tree fell the rest of the way. So here we are. Guess it must be nearly supper-time. Your foot hurt?”
“Ned,” said Tom, stopping in the path and looking straight at his friend. “I always called you Whalen—”
“Yes?” said his companion with a kind of weary curiosity. “Spring it. What is it?”
“Nothing, only after this I’m just going to call you Ned. I know you’re quite a little older than I am, but just the same I’m going to call you Ned always.
“Don’t approve of Whalen, huh?”
“Sure I do,” said Tom, his voice full of feeling and with a simple boyishness which well became him in the circumstances, “only—what I mean is—you know what I mean—it’s that, oh just that you’re my closest friend. You saved my life, gee whiz, you old grouch, now you’ve got to take me for better or worse. Go ahead now, say something sarcastic.”
CHAPTER XXII
THE OBSCURE TRAIL