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.
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