“And from all I have managed to learn, for a good part of the year it is cold enough up there to satisfy the most critical polar bear.”
“True for you.”
“He’s going with me, Tom, if he can travel. Of course he will!” cried Mr. Damon, jumping as usual to a decision which might change all his plans save that dealing with his destination.
But that was his way. Nothing was ever too much trouble for Wakefield Damon to do for a friend. He at once halted his preparations and rode back to Shopton with Tom and Mary, squeezed in between them on the narrow seat of the runabout, and interviewed the physicians that were attending Mr. Nestor.
What he learned about the chance Mr. Nestor had of surviving such a journey as was proposed satisfied Mr. Damon that he could take a chance with the invalid. When he went to the Nestor house and told the family in his blusterous way that he proposed bearing the sick man off with him, as a prisoner if need be, he scattered the gloom of that household most effectively.
“You are the dearest man who ever lived!” cried Mary, throwing herself into his arms.
“I’m going to tell Tom that,” threatened Mr. Damon. “Bless my love-knots, but that is the greatest compliment I ever had.”
Mary blushed, but her eyes shone upon him just the same. Mrs. Nestor was very grateful. The declaration made the most impression on the sick man.
“To Denmark and Iceland?” he said. “Places I have never seen! I shall like it. You give me a chance for life, I do believe, Brother Damon.”
“Never mind the sugar-plums,” replied Mr. Damon. “We’ve got to go in a hurry, for there is a certain steamship I want to take. Bless my seven-league boots! but we have got to do some tall traveling.”