CHAPTER I--Joe Gets Bad News About His Lungs--His "Pipes," as SpiderCalled Them
"What's the matter, Joe, lost all your pep?" asked Tom Seymour, as heslowed his pace down so that his tired companion could keep up with him.It was a Saturday morning in May, and the two boys, in their scoutsuits, with heavy shoes on, were tramping through the woods, where thespring flowers were beginning to appear and the little leaf buds werebursting out on the trees. Both Tom Seymour and his chum, Joe Clark,loved the woods, and especially in early spring they got into themwhenever they could, to see how the birds and animals had come throughthe winter, and then a little later to watch for the flowers and see thefoliage come.
But this day Joe seemed to be getting tired. They were tramping up ahillside, through mould softened by a recent rain, that made the footingdifficult, and though Joe was trying to keep up, Tom realized thatsomething was the matter.
"Say, Joe, old scout, what ails you, anyhow?" he asked again.
"Oh, it's nothing," Joe answered. "I've had a cold for a month, youknow, and it's pulled me down, that's all. Ma's giving me some tonic.I'll be all right. But I do get awful tired lately."
He stopped just then and began to cough.
"I wish you'd shake that old cold," Tom said. "I'm getting sick ofhearing you bark in school--you always tune up just as Pap Forbes iscalling on me to translate Caesar. And if you don't shake it, you'll beno good for the team, and how's the Southmead High School going to trimMercerville without you on second bag?"
Joe stopped coughing as soon as he could, and demanded, "Well, you don'tthink I keep the old thing around because I like it, do you? I'll giveit to anybody who'll cart it off. Come on--let's forget it!"
They started up the hill again, which grew steeper as they advanced, andpresently Tom realized once more that Joe couldn't keep up. As he had tobreathe harder with the increased steepness, too, he began to coughagain.
"Say, have you been to see a doctor?" Tom demanded.
"Oh, sure," said Joe, sitting down on a rock to rest "Ma had old DocJones in first week I was sick, and he gave me some stuff--tasted like amixture of kerosene and skunk cabbage, too."
"Doc Jones is no good," Tom declared. "My father says he wouldn't havehim for a sick cat. He doesn't even know there are germs. Mr. Rogerstold me the Doc thought it was foolish to make us scouts boil the waterfrom strange brooks before we drank it. Haven't you been to anybody elsesince, when you didn't get better?"
"Say, what do you think I am, a millionaire?" said Joe. "I can't bespending money on fancy doctors, and get through high school, too. Ma'sgot all she can handle now, with food and everything costing so much."
"I know all that, old scout," Tom answered, putting his hand on Joe'sshoulder. "But I guess it would cost your mother more if you were laidup, wouldn't it? Now, I've got a hunch you need some good doc to giveyou the once over. Are you tired all the time like this?"
"Oh, no," Joe replied. "Or only at night, mostly," he added. "I get kindof hot and tired at night, and I can't do much work. That's why I'vebeen flunking Caesar. Old Pap thinks I'm lying down on the job, but Ireally ain't. I try every evening, but the words get all mixed togetheron the page."
Tom sprang to his feet with the quick, almost catlike agility which, incombination with his thin, rather tall and very wiry frame, had earnedfor him the nickname of Spider.
"You come along with me," he said.
"Depends on where you're going," Joe laughed.
"Say, I'm patrol leader, ain't I?"
"You are, but this isn't the patrol. We aren't under scout disciplineto-day."
"_You_ are," laughed Tom. "You're going to do just what I tell you. Comeon, now!"
He grabbed Joe by the wrist and brought him to his feet. Joe didn'tresist, either, though Tom expected a scrap. He came along meekly downthe hill, through the wet, fragrant woods. Once on the village street,Spider led the way directly to Mr. Rogers' house, and 'round the houseto the studio, and knocked on the door.
The scout master opened it. He was wearing his long artist's apron, andhad his big palette, covered with all the colors of the rainbow, thrustover the thumb of his left hand.
"Hello, Spider; hello, Joe," he said. "What's the trouble? Has thetenderfoot patrol mutinied?"
The boys came in.
"No, sir, but Joe's windpipes have," said Tom. He quickly told about hischum's cold, and how he got tired now all the time.
"Now, cough for the gentleman, Joe," he added with a laugh.
Joe laughed, too, which actually did set him to coughing.
But Mr. Rogers didn't laugh. He looked very grave, and began to take offhis apron. He washed his hands, put on his coat, and with a short,"Come, boys," started down the path.
There was a famous doctor in Southmead who didn't practice in the townat all. His patients came from various parts of the country, to betreated for special diseases, and they lived while there in a sort ofhotel-sanitorium. It was said that this doctor, whose name was Meyer,charged twenty dollars a visit. The boys soon realized that Mr. Rogerswas headed for his house.
"Say, who does he think I am, John D. Rockefeller?" Joe whispered toTom.
"Don't you worry," Tom whispered back. "He's a friend of old DocMeyer's, all right. He'll fix it. You trot along."
They had to wait in the doctor's anteroom some time, as he had a patientin the office. Finally he came out and greeted Mr. Rogers warmly. He wasnot a native of Southmead, but had come there only two or three yearsago from New York, to have his sanitorium in the country, and he hadalways been so busy that most of the townspeople scarcely knew him. Tomand Joe, while they had seen him, had never spoken with him before. Hewas a middle-aged Jew, with gold spectacles on his big nose, and large,kindly brown eyes, which grew very keen as he looked at the boys, andseemed to pierce right through them.
The scout master spoke to him a moment, in a low voice, and then he ledall three into his office. It wasn't like any doctor's office the scoutshad ever been in. It looked more like some sort of a mysteriouslaboratory, except for the flat-top office desk in the middle, and thestrange chair, with wheels and joints, which could evidently be tippedat any angle, or made into a flat surface like an elevated sofa. Therewas a great X-ray machine, and many other strange devices, and rows oftest tubes on a white enameled table, and sinks and sterilizers.
The doctor patted Joe on the head as if he'd been a little boy insteadof a first class scout sixteen years old, going on seventeen, and largefor his age. He sat Joe down in a chair and asked him a lot of questionsfirst, making some notes on a card which he took out of a small filingcabinet that was like a library catalogue case. Then he told him toundress.
Joe stripped to the waist, and stood up while the doctor tapped hisshoulders, his chest, his back, and then listened with his ear down bothon his chest and back, and finally he took a stethoscope and went overevery square inch of surface, front and back, covering his lungs, whilehe made the patient cough, say "Ah," draw in a deep breath, and expel itslowly. Finally he took his temperature, and a sample of sputum.
Meanwhile Tom looked on with a rapidly increasing alarm. He knew alittle something about tuberculosis, and realized it was for that he wasexamining his chum. He knew what a deadly disease it is, too, if it isnot caught in time, and he began to feel sick in the pit of his stomach.He wanted to cry out to the doctor and demand that he tell him at oncethat old Joe did not have this terrible disease--that he was all right,that it was nothing but a cold. But, of course, he said not a word.
The doctor was putting Joe on the scales now, and weighing him.
"A hundred and fifteen," he said. "How's that? About your regularweight?"
"Guess there's something wrong with your scales," Joe answered, lookingat the marker. "I ought to be a hundred and thirty. 'Course, I had moreclothes on in the winter, last time I was weighed."
"Yes, and you ought to have grown some since," said the doctor. "Well,you will yet. You go home and rest now--sit in the sun this afternoon,and
go to bed early, with your window open. Come back here to-morrowmorning at ten o'clock, and I'll know more about you."
"But I can't sit in the sun to-day," Joe cried. "Why, we've got a gamethis after', and I _got_ to play second."
The doctor looked at him with his kindly, fatherly smile, but his voicewas like a general's giving a command. "No more baseball for you for thepresent, my boy," he said. "You've got to keep quiet and rest, if youwant to get well quickly."
"How soon can he play?" Tom put in, excitedly. After he had said it, hethought it sounded as if he were more interested in the team than inJoe, and he was going to explain, but the doctor replied before he had achance.
"That will all depend on how quiet you make him keep," said he. "You cancome back with him to-morrow if you want, and I'll tell you some more."
The doctor spoke softly to Mr. Rogers while Joe was dressing, and thenthe three went out.
"Say, he doesn't leave much of you unexplored, does he?" said Joe."What's the damage, Mr. Rogers? Gee, I never thought I'd be swell enoughto go to Doc Meyer!"
"I guess he doesn't charge for scouts, when they really need him," Mr.Rogers answered. "Now, Joe, you go home and do what he told you. I'll beover to see your mother later, and tell her to keep an eye on you."
Tom went with the scout master in the opposite direction, his face verygrave.
"Is--is--has old Joey got consumption?" he managed to ask, his lips dryand a lump coming up in his chest.
The scout master looked at his young patrol leader, and then put a handover his shoulder.
"The doctor won't say for certain till he's examined the sputum," Mr.Rogers replied, "but I'm afraid he's got the beginnings of it. Now,don't take it hard, and don't say a word to Joe or his mother or anybodyelse. He's young, and it's just beginning, and we'll pull him through ingood shape, and make a well man of him again. But you must make him dojust what the doctor says, and stand by him."
"Stand by him!" cried Tom, two tears coming into his eyes in spite ofhimself. "Say, he's my best friend, isn't he? What do you take me for?"
"I take you for a good scout," said Mr. Rogers.
Boy Scouts in Glacier Park Page 3