ly strained--that's different from being
sprained--and my head's all right now."

"What will you do?" Roscoe asked, looking troubled and unconvinced in
spite of Tom's assurances.

"I was going to come up here and camp alone over the Fourth of July,
anyway," said Tom. "I always meant to do that. I'll call this a
vacation--as you might say. I got to thank _you_ for that."

"You've got to thank _me_ for a whole lot," said Roscoe ironically; "for
a broken head and a lame ankle and missing all the fun last night, and
losing your job, maybe."

"I ain't worryin'," said Tom. "I hit the right trail."

"And saved me from being--no, I'm one, anyway, now----"

"No, you ain't; you just got rattled. Now you can see straight, so you
have to go back right away. As soon as my foot's better, I'll go down to
Temple Camp. That'll be to-morrow--or _sure_ day after to-morrow. I'm
going to look around the camp and see if everything is all right, and
then I'll hike into Leeds and go down by the train. If I was to go
limping back, they might think things; and, anyway, it's better for you
to get there alone."

"Are you _sure_ your foot'll be all right?" Roscoe asked.

"Sure. I'll read that book of yours, and maybe I'll catch some trout for
lunch ..."

Roscoe sprang forward impulsively and grasped Tom's hand.

"Now you spilled my coffee," said Tom impassively.

"Tom, I don't know how to take you," Roscoe said feelingly; "you're a
puzzle to me. I never realized what sort of a chap you were--when I used
to make fun of you and jolly you. Let's feel your old muscle," he added,
on the impulse. "I wish _I_ had a muscle like that...."

"Tie a double cord around it, and I'll break the cord," said Tom simply.

"I bet you can," said Roscoe proudly, "and--you saved me from ... I
don't know what you did it for...."

"I got no objections to telling you," said Tom. "It's because I liked
you. There might have been other reasons, but that's the main one. If I
only knew how to act and talk--especially to girls--and kind of make
them laugh and----"

"Don't talk that way," said Roscoe, sitting on the edge of the bunk and
speaking with great earnestness. "You make me feel like a--like a
criminal. Me! What am I? You tell Margaret Ellison about how you can
break a cord around your arm--and see what she'll say. _That's_ the kind
of things they like to know about you. You don't know much about
them----"

"I never claimed I did," said Tom.

"Here, I