His eyes had lost some of the fever brightness, and he spoke
of the pain in his chest as being less severe than it had been.
"I've been an awful nuisance here," he whispered, weakly, as his
chum bent over him.
"Stow all that kind of talk," Reade ordered. "Just get your strength
back as fast as you can. Sleep all you can, too. Get a nap, now,
and maybe when you wake up you'll be hungry enough to want a little
something to eat."
"I don't want anything," Harry replied.
"He's a goner, sure!" gasped Tom Reade, inwardly, feeling a great
chill of fear creep up and down his spine. "It's the first time
in his life that I ever knew Harry to refuse to eat."
"The weather is coming on cold," Jim Ferrers reported that evening,
when he came back from the coon shack with Tom's supper.
"Is it going to be cold enough to put a crust on the snow?" Reade
eagerly demanded.
"If it keeps on growing cold we ought to have a good crust by
the day after tomorrow."
"I'll pray for it," said Tom fervently.
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