“Yes, and you ought to have grown some since,” said the doctor. “Well, you will yet. You go home and rest now—sit in the sun this afternoon, and go to bed early, with your window open. Come back here to-morrow morning at ten o’clock, and I’ll know more about you.”
“But I can’t sit in the sun to-day,” Joe cried. “Why, we’ve got a game this after’, and I got to play second.”
The doctor looked at him with his kindly, fatherly smile, but his voice was like a general’s giving a command. “No more baseball for you for the present, my boy,” he said. “You’ve got to keep quiet and rest, if you want to get well quickly.”
“How soon can he play?” Tom put in, excitedly. After he had said it, he thought it sounded as if he were more interested in the team than in Joe, and he was going to explain, but the doctor replied before he had a chance.
“That will all depend on how quiet you make him keep,” said he. “You can come back with him to-morrow if you want, and I’ll tell you some more.”
The doctor spoke softly to Mr. Rogers while Joe was dressing, and then the three went out.
“Say, he doesn’t leave much of you unexplored, does he?” said Joe. “What’s the damage, Mr. Rogers? Gee, I never thought I’d be swell enough to go to Doc Meyer!”
“I guess he doesn’t charge for scouts, when they really need him,” Mr. Rogers answered. “Now, Joe, you go home and do what he told you. I’ll be over to see your mother later, and tell her to keep an eye on you.”
Tom went with the scout master in the opposite direction, his face very grave.
“Is—is—has old Joey got consumption?” he managed to ask, his lips dry and a lump coming up in his chest.