“Mr. Tom—Slade,” the girl began nervously.
“Tom’s good enough.”
“My brother thinks a great deal of you—you’re his hero. The boys who were on their way back to school think he’s a coward. I think he isn’t. If you think he is, I want you to promise you won’t let him know—not just yet, anyway.” She spoke quietly and very intensely. “Will you promise me that? That you’ll be loyal?”
“I’m more loyal than you are,” laughed Tom. “You say you think he isn’t a coward. I know he isn’t. That’s the least thing that’s worrying me. What’s all the trouble anyway?”
Arden’s admiring, even thrilled, approval was plainly shown in the impulsive way in which she flung the door open. She was very winsome and graceful in the quick movement and in the momentary pause she made for the young camp assistant to pass within. Then she closed it and leaned against it.
“Well, well,” said Tom, breezing in. His very presence seemed a stimulant to the pale boy whose face lighted with pleasure at sight of the tall, khaki-clad young fellow who strode across the room and stood near the chair contemplating his young friend with a refreshing smile. He seemed to fill the whole room and to diffuse an atmosphere of cheer and wholesomeness.
“Excuse my appearance,” he said, “I’ve been trying to find a knock in that flivver; I guess we’ll have to take the knock with us, Billy.”
“I’m afraid he can’t go to that camp,” said Mrs. Cowell. “We’re waiting for the doctor; I do wish he’d come.”
“Well, let’s hear all about it,” said Tom.
“Let me tell him, mother,” said Arden.