“You made me a promise, you know,” Wilfred reminded him.
“Sure,” Tom agreed, still scrutinizing him in perplexity.
“I have to get out of the patrol,” said Wilfred.
“Well now, look here,” said Tom, starting on another tack, “you’re feeling pretty nifty, aren’t you? No more pains or anything? You’re looking fine, I’ll say that. Why not see the doc and let him give you the once over, and if he says you’re all right——”
“What’s done is done,” said Wilfred
“Yes, that’s so,” agreed Tom ruefully.
“I’m going to see the doctor on August first and not till then. Suppose he should tell me to lie on my back or something like that? Do you suppose I don’t like to walk?”
“Well, I’m afraid you’ll walk alone,” said Tom.
“Well, that’s what I’ve been doing right along,” said Wilfred.
Tom tried to reach him from another angle. “I suppose you know the Ravens are planning to have you swim the lake for the record, don’t you? In the Mary Temple event on August tenth? Wig-wag Weigand won’t hear of anybody but you; he’s got Artie started now. Don’t you want to stick with that bunch and swim for it? I believe you would walk away with it in those arms of yours. All you’ve got to do is say you made a promise—these fellows up here all know what a promise means—they’ve got mothers, too. Let me tell them. What do you say?”