"To think that, all the time," he muttered, "I've been longing
for a doctor's visit, and yet I've had a man in camp who's almost
a doctor."
"No, sir; a long way from that," protested Tim Walsh. "And, besides,
I've forgotten a whole lot that I used to know."
Tom rapidly explained how he had been treating Hazelton, according
to the directions in the little medicine book. Tim listened gravely.
"Was that all right, Tim?" Tom asked, breathlessly, when he had
finished.
"I should say about all right, sir."
"Tim, what shall I do next?"
"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, sturdily.
"Will you call me in an hour, if I lie down?"
"I will."
"You'll call me in an hour?"
"On my honor, Mr.
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