“Oh, about three months ago. I’m staying at a scout camp up this way. Maybe you can tell me if it’s all right for me to run and jump yet—and do things. They said around the first I better ask the doctor. I wouldn’t run or dive or anything like that before the first anyway. But I guess there’s no harm in my asking as long as I’m here. I couldn’t pay you any money because I spent my five dollars to bring Mr. Winters here in a buggy.”
The doctor seemed greatly taken by this boyish frankness. “Well, we’ll see if you can hop, skip and jump,” said he, applying the stethoscope which was still in his hand. Wilfred stood straight, threw back his shoulders and down went that wavy lock of hair. He looked a fine enough specimen of a boy, tall, slender, with a spirited pose of his head. “I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t live a couple of hundred years, with careful nursing,” said the doctor.
“You mean there’s nothing the matter; I’m all right?”
“Far as I can see; you just had after effects and so you had to play safe for a while. You’re all right now. Feel all right, don’t you?”
“Sure I do, only I made a promise I wouldn’t be lively and all that for a month. The month is up on Tuesday. It seems kind of like Christmas.”
“Christmas, eh?” laughed the doctor.
“You’d think so if you did like I did.”
“And you didn’t jump or run once?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, you’re some boy.”