CHAPTER XVI
DON VISITS THE DOCTOR
"What did Walton want of you?" asked Tim a half-hour later, when the occupants of Number 6 were settled at opposite sides of the table for study.
"Walton?" repeated Don vaguely. "Oh, nothing especial."
"Nothing especial? Then why the mysterious summons? Did he make any crack about that little escapade of ours?"
"He mentioned it. Shut up and let me get to work, Tim."
"Mentioned it how? What did he say? Any chance of beating him up? I've always had a longing, away down deep inside me, Donald, to place my fist violently against some portion of Walton's—er—facial contour. Say, that's good, isn't it? Facial contour's decidedly good, Don."
"Fine," responded the other listlessly.
Tim peered across at him under the droplight. "Say, you look as if you'd lost a dozen dear friends. Anything wrong? Look here, has Walton been acting nasty?"
"Don't be a chump, Tim. I'm all right. Or, anyway, I'm only sort of—sort of tired. Dry up and let me stuff."