“He’s a good-hearted dub,” answered Nelson softly.
Five minutes of toil brought them to the summit, and after that it was easier work. By the time they had reached the road the rain had almost ceased, and for the rest of the way they had only the mud and their chilled bodies to contend with. Twenty minutes later they straggled into camp to find Mr. Clinton in the act of leading a search party after them. Nelson was conducted to the surgery, where Dr. Smith washed and bandaged his head, and the other members of the party hied them to the dormitory and dry clothes, followed by half the fellows of the camp eager to hear the story of their adventures. And when it had been told—losing nothing in the telling by Dan—Bob suddenly exclaimed:
“Well, if he didn’t do it!”
“Do what?” “Who did?” “When?” were the queries fired at him.
“Why, Tommy did! He said, before we started, that he was going to beat the hares home, the cheeky kid! And he did it!”
“But we all came home together,” objected Dan.
“Yes, but if you’ll recollect, it was Tommy who headed the procession coming into camp.”
“So it was,” said Dan.
“So I did,” said Tom. “Ain’t I a smarty?”
Whereupon Dan tumbled him over backward onto the bed and sat on top of him a long, long time, and told him how very, very smart he was. And it was not until Nelson, appearing on the scene with a wealth of surgeon’s plaster adorning his brow, asked innocently, “Who’s going to soak?” that Dan’s attentions ceased; and then it was only because he felt obliged to stand firmly on his feet in order to put the necessary amount of withering sarcasm into his reply to Nelson.