The scout master looked at his young patrol leader, and then put a hand over his shoulder.
“The doctor won’t say for certain till he’s examined the sputum,” Mr. Rogers replied, “but I’m afraid he’s got the beginnings of it. Now, don’t take it hard, and don’t say a word to Joe or his mother or anybody else. He’s young, and it’s just beginning, and we’ll pull him through in good shape, and make a well man of him again. But you must make him do just what the doctor says, and stand by him.”
“Stand by him!” cried Tom, two tears coming into his eyes in spite of himself. “Say, he’s my best friend, isn’t he? What do you take me for?”
“I take you for a good scout,” said Mr. Rogers.
CHAPTER II—Joe Learns How Many Friends He Has, and Achieves a Tent to Sleep In
Tom could hardly sleep that night, for thinking about his friend. The doctor would probably tell him he’d got to go to the Adirondacks to live, or maybe to Colorado or New Mexico; Tom knew that people with bad lungs were sent to those places. But how was Joe going to get there, and how was he going to live when he got there? Joe’s mother was a widow, with two other, younger children, and it was hard enough for her to send Joe through high school, in spite of what he earned in summer driving a mowing machine on the golf links. If he had consumption, the doctor wouldn’t let him work—he would make him keep quiet. How was it going to be managed? Tom kept turning over this problem in his head, till he finally fell asleep for very weariness.
The next day he and Mr. Rogers again went with Joe to Dr. Meyer’s. On the road Tom was silent and serious.
“Say, what’s the matter with you, Spider? You look as if you were going to my funeral,” said Joe.
“Yes, what’s the matter with you?” Mr. Rogers added, giving him a sharp look which Joe didn’t see. “Scouts are supposed to be cheerful, aren’t they?”
“Yes, sir,” Tom answered, trying to grin. But he made rather a poor job of it, he was so worried and anxious.