“I’m not pipe dreaming,” Tom replied. “If you’ll get well quicker in the Rockies, you’re going to the Rockies, and I’m going along to take care of you.”
“How are you going to manage it, Tom?” said Mr. Rogers.
“I—I dunno, but I’m going to, somehow. Old Joe’s got to get well and finish high school, and room with me in college, and then we’re going to be civil engineers or foresters, and——”
“But the first thing is to get well,” the doctor interrupted. “You can plan for the Rockies later. Right now we must see about Joe’s diet and daily schedule.”
After he had drawn these up—and it seemed to Joe he’d got to live on raw eggs and milk and cod liver oil, and spend most of his life in a chair on the porch—the two boys and the scout master departed.
It was now Joe who was depressed and glum, and Tom who needed no prompting to be cheerful. The minute he saw his chum in the dumps, he set about restoring his spirits.
“Buck up, old scout,” he cried. “The doc told you it would be all right. Gee, what’s just sitting on the porch for a few weeks? You won’t have to translate any old Cæsar, and I’ll come every day to see you swallowing cod liver oil, and then as soon as I can get it doped out, we’ll hit the trail for the Rocky Mountains. Don’t you want to see the Rocky Mountains?”
“Oh, quit your kidding,” poor Joe answered. “The only way I’ll ever see the Rocky Mountains is in the movies.”
“Don’t you fool yourself. Mr. Rogers and I’ll dope out something yet, won’t we, Mr. Rogers?”
“We’ll put our heads together hard, anyhow,” the scout master answered. “But first, Tom, we must get the scouts together and find a way in which we can all help Joe’s mother, now Joe can’t haul wood and do heavy work.”