"Oh, he heard us!" gasped Tom, in pretended confusion. "I didn't think
he had any rational moments. But he has. There, Georgie," he went on
soothingly. "Go lie down in the shade, and you'll be all right in a
little while. Do you suffer much?"

"Say, what's the joke?" demanded George Abbot, the small lad referred
to. "Can't I ask you a question, without being insulted and called
crazy?"

"Sure you can, Why," replied Tom, giving the lad the nick-name bestowed
on him because of his many interrogations. "Of course you can ask one
question, or even two, but you can't fire broadsides at us in that
fashion. Remember that we have weak hearts."

"And our constitutions are not strong," added Morse.

"Oh, you be hanged!" murmured George. "If you can't--"

"Oh, come along!" invited Tom, catching him by the arm. "We're going
to town. It's Morse's treat. Yes, George, I did have a bang-up time
on my vacation. I'll tell you all about it later."

The three were soon on a trolley car and, a little later, they had
reached the town, heading for a drug store where ice cream sodas were a
specialty.

"It goes to the right spot!" exclaimed Tom gratefully, as he finished
what was set before him. "What do you say to a moving picture show?
It will pass the time until the last train gets in. Then for some fun