Finding a small book of instructions in the chest,
Tom moved over under the strong light and settled himself to read
thoughtfully.
Harry tossed restlessly, unmindful of what was going on around
him. His heavy, rapid breathing filled the place. Once in a
while he moaned slightly, every sound of this kind going through
Tom like a knife.
A particularly deep moan caused Tom to shiver and close the book.
He went over and felt Harry's hot, drier skin.
"Jim," he directed, "I'm sure that, somehow, we should force the
perspiration through his dry, parched skin. Take some of the
blankets out of my bunk and spread them over Harry."
"It'll make his fever worse, won't it?"
"I'm sure I don't know," Tom admitted helplessly. "We'd better
try it for a while, anyway."
Then Tom stood looking down at the flushed face of his chum, muttering
below his breath:
"Harry, old fellow, I wish your mother were here. She'd know
just what to do. And for your mother's sake, as well as my own,
I've just got to blunder into something that will cure you.
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