"Chew it, paper and all," advised Appleton, cheerfully.
"Oh, the good has all gone out of it now," Slater explained.
"Meet me in Seattle on the fifteenth of next month," his employer directed.
"I'll be there if old 'Indy' spares me. But dyspepsia, with nothing to eat except beans and pork bosom, will probably lay me in my grave long before the fifteenth. However, I'll do my best. Now, do you want to know what I think of this proposition of yours?" He eyed his superior somberly.
"Sure; I want all the encouragement I can get, and your views are always inspiriting."
"Well, I think it's nothing more nor less than hydrophobia. These mosquitoes have given you the rabies and you need medical attention. You need it bad."
"Still, you'll help me, won't you?"
"Oh yes," said Tom, "I'll help you. But it's a pity to see a man go mad."