"An' so you been tryin' to drown yourself too, have you?" continued Danny. "Well, well,'tis queer tastes you have, the two of you! Drink a bit o' this, Jim, and lie still."
Mr. Robey came in and Danny nodded reassuringly to him. "They'll be fine as fiddles in an hour, Coach. Now you boys scatter out o' here an' leave them have a bit nap."
Tom didn't remember much for awhile after that, for he must have fallen promptly to sleep. When he awoke, the light was turned low and Steve was sitting on the edge of the bed. On a chair beside him was a tray from which appetizing odours curled toward him. Tom blinked sleepily.
"Hello," he murmured. "What's up?"
"I am and you're not," answered Steve. "I've brought you some supper. Are you hungry?"
Recollection returned then and Tom observed his chum anxiously.
"Are you all right!" he demanded. "Did they say you could get up?"
"Of course. You can too after you eat. But you were asleep and Danny said you might as well have it out. How are you feeling?"
Tom sat up experimentally and took a deep breath. "All right," he answered stoutly, although as a matter of fact he was full of stiff spots and queer aches. "And—and I'm hungry."
"Good stuff!" laughed Steve. He lifted the tray to Tom's lap and took the covers from the dishes. "There isn't an awful lot here," he added apologetically, "but Danny said you'd be better if you didn't eat such a big supper. Do you mind?"