Part 42 (1/2)
”Do you want me to tell you, sir?”
”Yes, yes, yes!”
”Then I might as well do it, sir, as tell you,” Tim drawled out.
”Mr. Reade, you're worn to pieces. You get into your bunk and I'll take charge for an hour.”
”I want to see you do the things you know how to do.”
”Not a thing will I do, Mr. Reade, unless you get into your bunk for an hour,” declared Walsh, st.u.r.dily.
”Will you call me in an hour, if I lie down?”
”I will.”
”You'll call me in an hour?”
”On my honor, Mr. Reade.”
Tim Walsh thereupon bundled the young engineer into another bunk, covered him up, and then watched until Tom Reade, utterly exhausted, fell into a deep sleep that was more like a trance.
”But I didn't say in which hour I'd call him,” muttered Walsh under his breath, his eyes twinkling. Then he tip-toed over to look at Harry Hazelton, who, also, was asleep. Through the whole day Tom slept nor did the ex-Army nurse once quit the shack.
When dark came Tim Walsh had just finished lighting the lamp and shading it when he turned to find Tom Reade glaring angrily into his eyes.
”Tim, what does this treachery mean?” Reade questioned in a hoa.r.s.e whisper.
”It means, sir, that you had tired yourself out so that you were no longer fit to nurse your partner. He was in bad hands, taking his medicines and his care from a man as dog-tired as you were, Mr. Reade. It also means, sir, that I've been looking after Mr.
Hazelton all day, and he's a bit better this evening. Him and me had a short chat this afternoon, and you never heard us. Mr.
Hazelton went to sleep only twenty minutes ago. When he wakes up you can feel his skin and take his pulse, and you'll find him doing better.”
”Tim, I know you meant it for the best, and that I ought to be thankful to you,” Tom murmured, ”but, man, I've a good notion to skin you alive!”
”You'd better not try anything like that, sir,” grinned Walsh.
”Remember that I'm in charge here, now, and that you're only a visitor. If you interfere between me and my patient, Mr. Reade, I'll put you out of here and bar the door against you.”
Tom, though angry at having been allowed to sleep for so long, had the quick good sense to see that the big miner was quite right.
”All right, Tim Walsh,” he sighed. ”If you can take better care of my chum than I can then you're the new boss here. I'll be good.”
”First of all,” ordered Walsh, ”go over to the cook shack and get some supper. Don't dare to come back inside of an hour, so you'll have time to eat a real supper.”
Tom departed obediently. Once out in the keen air he began to understand how much good his day's sleep had done him. He was alive and strong again. Taking in deep breaths, he tramped along the path over to the shaft ere he turned his steps toward the cook shack.
”Come right in, Mr. Reade, and eat something,” urged Cook Leon.
”This is the first time I've seen you in days. You must be hungry.”
”There's a fellow ten times smarter than I who's looking after Hazelton,” spoke Tom cheerily, ”so I believe I am hungry. Yes; you may set me out a good supper.”