CHAPTER XVI
DON VISITS THE DOCTOR
"WHAT did Walton want of you?" asked Tim a half-hour later, when theoccupants of Number 6 were settled at opposite sides of the table forstudy.
"Walton?" repeated Don vaguely. "Oh, nothing especial."
"Nothing especial? Then why the mysterious summons? Did he make anycrack about that little escapade of ours?"
"He mentioned it. Shut up and let me get to work, Tim."
"Mentioned it how? What did he say? Any chance of beating him up? I'vealways had a longing, away down deep inside me, Donald, to place my fistviolently against some portion of Walton's--er--facial contour. Say,that's good, isn't it? Facial contour's decidedly good, Don."
"Fine," responded the other listlessly.
Tim peered across at him under the droplight. "Say, you look as if you'dlost a dozen dear friends. Anything wrong? Look here, has Walton beenacting nasty?"
"Don't be a chump, Tim. I'm all right. Or, anyway, I'm only sortof--sort of tired. Dry up and let me stuff."
"Oh, very well, but you needn't be so haughty about it. I don't want toshare your secrets with dear Harry. Everyone to his taste, as the oldlady said when she kissed the cow."
Tim's sarcasm, however, brought no response, and presently, aftergrowling a little while he pawed his books over and dropped the subject,to Don's relief, and silence fell. Don made a fine pretence of studying,but most of the time he couldn't have told what book lay before him.When the hour was up Tim, who had by then returned to his usualcondition of cheerful good nature, tried to induce Don to go over toHensey to call on Larry Jones, who, it seemed, had perfected a mostnovel and marvellous trick with a ruler and two glasses of water. ButDon refused to be enticed and Tim went off alone, gravely cautioning hisroom-mate against melancholia.
"Try to keep your mind off your troubles, Donald. Think of bright andhappy things, like me or the pretty birds. Remember that nothing is everquite as bad as we think it is, that every line has a silver cloudingand that--that it's always dawnest before the dark. Farewell, you oldgrouch!"
Don didn't have to pretend very hard the next day that he was feelingill, for an almost sleepless night, spent in trying to find some way outof his difficulties, had left him hollow-eyed and pale. Breakfast hadbeen a farce and dinner a mere empty pretence, and between the two mealshe had fared illy in classes. It was scarcely more than an exaggerationto tell Coach Robey that he didn't feel well enough to play, and thecoach readily believed him and gave him over to the mercies of DannyMoore.
The trainer tried hard to get Don to enumerate some tangible symptoms,but Don could only repeat that he was dreadfully tired and out of sorts."Eat anything that didn't agree with you?" asked Danny.
"No, I didn't eat much of anything. I didn't have any appetite."
"Sure, that was sensible, anyway. I'll be after giving you a tonic, meboy. Take it like I tell you, do ye mind, keep off your feet and get agood sleep. After breakfast come to me in the gym and I'll have a lookat you."
Don took the tonic--when he thought of it--ate a fair supper and wentearly to bed, not so much in the hope of curing his ailment as becausehe couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. He slept pretty well, but wasdimly conscious of waking frequently during the night, and when morningcame felt fully as tired as when he had retired. Breakfast was beyondhim, although Mr. Robey, his attention drawn to Don by Harry Walton'sinnocent "You're looking pretty bum, Gilbert," counselled soft boiledeggs and hot milk. Don dallied with the eggs and drank part of the milkand was glad to escape as soon as he could.
Danny gave him a very thorough inspection in the rubbing room afterbreakfast, but could find nothing wrong. "Sure, you're as sound as ColinMeagher's fiddle, me boy. Where is it it hurts ye?"
"It doesn't hurt anywhere, Danny," responded Don. "I'm all right, Isuppose, only I don't feel--don't feel very fit."
"A bit fine, you are, and I'm thinking you'd better lay off the work fortoday. Be outdoors as much as you can, but don't be tiring yourself out.Have you taken the tonic like I told ye?"
"I've taken enough of the beastly stuff," answered Don listlessly.
Danny laughed. "Sure, it's the fine-tasting medicine, lad. Keep at it.And listen to me, now. If you want to play agin Claflin, Donny, you doas I'm tellin' you and don't be thinkin' you know more about it than Ido. Sure, Robey won't look at ye at all, come a week from tomorrow, ifyou don't brace up."
"Oh, I'm all right, Danny, thanks. Maybe if I rest off today I'll befine tomorrow."
"That's what I'm tellin' you. See that ye do it."
That afternoon he watched practice from the bench without getting intotogs and saw Harry Walton play at left guard. He would much rather haveremained away from the field, but to have done so might, he thought,have looked queer. Coach Robey was solicitous about him, but apparentlydid not take his indisposition very seriously. "'Take it easy, Gilbert,"he said, "and don't worry. You'll be all right for tomorrow, I guess.You've been working pretty hard, my boy. Better pull a blanket over yourshoulders. This breeze is rather biting. Can't have you laid up forlong, you know."
Harry Walton performed well that afternoon, playing with a vim and dashthat was something of a revelation to his team-mates. Tim was evidentlytroubled when he walked back to hall with Don after practice. "For thelove of mud, Don," he pleaded, "get over it and come back! Did you seethe way Walton played today? If he gets in tomorrow and plays like thatagainst Chambers Robey'll be handing him the place! What the dickens iswrong with you, anyway?"
"I'm just tired," responded Don.
"Tired!" Tim was puzzled. "What for? You haven't worked since day beforeyesterday. What you've got is malaria or something. Tell you what we'lldo, Don; we'll beat it over to the doctor's after supper, eh?"
But Don shook his head. "Danny's tonic is all I need," he said. "I daresay I'll be feeling great in the morning."
"You dare say you will! Don't you feel sure you will? Because I've gotto tell you, Donald, that this is a plaguy bad time to get laid off,son. If you're not a regular little Bright Eyes by Monday Robey'll canyou as sure as shooting!"
"I wouldn't much care if he did," muttered Don.
"You wouldn't much---- Say, are you crazy?" Tim stopped short on thewalk and viewed his chum in amazement. "Is it your brain that's goneback on you? Don't you _want_ to play against Claflin?"
"I suppose so. Yes, of course I do, but----"
"Then don't talk like a piece of cheese! You'll come with me to thedoctor after supper if I have to drag you there by one heel!"
And so go he did, and the doctor looked at his tongue and felt his pulseand "pawed him over," as Don put it, and ended by patting him on theback and accepting a nice bright half-dollar--half-price to Academystudents--in exchange for a prescription.
"You're a little nervous," said the doctor. "Thinking too much aboutthat football game, I guess. Don't do it. Put it out of your mind. Takethat medicine every two hours according to directions on the bottle andyou'll be all right, my boy."
Don thanked him, slipped the prescription in a pocket and headed forschool. But Tim grabbed him and faced him about. "You don't swallow theprescription, Donald," he said. "You take it to a druggist and he givesyou something in a bottle. That's what you swallow, the stuff in thebottle. I'm not saying that it mightn't do you just as much good to eatthe paper, but we'd better play by the rules. So come on, youlunk-head."
"Oh, I forgot," murmured Don.
"Of course you did," agreed the other sarcastically. "And, look here, ifanyone asks you your name, it's Donald Croft Gilbert. Think you canremember that? Donald Croft----"
"Oh, dry up," said Don. "How much will this fool medicine cost me?"
"How much have you got?"
"About eighty cents, I think."
"It'll cost you eighty cents, then. Ask me something easier. I don'tpretend to know how druggists do it, but they can always look rightthrough your clothes and count your money. Never knew it to fail!"
But it faile
d this time, or else the druggist counted wrong, for theprescription was a dollar and Tim had to make up the balance. Heinsisted on Don taking the first dose then and there, so that he couldget in another before bedtime, and Don meekly obeyed. After he hadswallowed it he begged a glass of soda water from the druggist to takethe taste out of his mouth, and the druggist, doubtless realising thedemands of the occasion, stood treat to them both. On the way back Timfigured it that if they had only insisted on having ice-cream sodas theywould have reduced the price of the medicine to its rightful cost. Don,though, firmly insisted that it was worth every cent of what he had paidfor it.
"No one," he said convincedly, "could get that much nastiness into asmall bottle for less than a dollar!"
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