“Could I be of any use in any way?” Tom asked, hesitatingly. “You mean you want to give your own blood?” the doctor asked bluntly. “Yes, I do—I meant that.” “Well, you’d better send for his folks anyway.” “I’ll wire them,” Tom said. It was strange to see Tom so dependent and obedient, he who always breezed in here and there with his cheery, offhand manner of authority. He seemed different from the scouts as they opened a way for him to pass through. But one sturdy, fearless soul ventured to address him. “Anyway, one thing, you picked a winner, that’s sure; gee whiz, you did that, Tom. I ought to know because I picked lots of them myself. Gee whiz, you picked a winner all right.” Tom cast a kind of worried smile at Pee-wee as he hurried away. But it was better than no smile at all. CHAPTER XXXII TOM’S BIG DAY Several days had passed and Wilfred was lying in the tiny hospital ward of four beds in Administration Shack. He was the only patient there, which made the sunny apartment a pleasant sitting room for Mrs. Cowell and Arden. Just as when we first met this little family, they were waiting for the doctor now. And just as that memorable day, the first to arrive was not the doctor but Tom Slade. He had given of his own life’s blood to save this boy whom he had made a scout and the badge of this divine service was bound on his own arm, fold over fold, concealed under the loose-sleeved, khaki jacket which he wore. “I have two disappointed children, Mr. Slade,” said Mrs. Cowell. “Wilfred bewails his loss of the radio set and Arden wanted to give her own blood to her brother.” “Well, I beat her to it,” said Tom in his breezy way. “How do you folks sleep over in the guest shanty? Did you hear that owl last night? What’s this about the radio, Billy?” he added, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I wanted the Elks to have it.” “The Elks have forgotten all about it,” laughed Tom. “They’re busy fighting with the Ravens over which patrol really can claim you. I told them you weren’t worth quarreling over. How about that, Arden?” “You seem to be very happy this morning,” Arden commented. “That’s me,” said Tom. “This is my big day.” “It’ll be my big day when I get up,” said Wilfred. “Well, I hope you don’t get up very soon,” said Tom. “And why not, Mr. Sl—Tom?” Arden asked. “Because you’re going home when he gets up. To-day we swap horses in the middle of the stream—as Abe Lincoln said we shouldn’t hadn’t outer do.” “Oh, is the young doctor coming?” “That’s what he is—with bells on. Doc Anderson beat it this morning—had a patient in Montclair dying of the pip, or something or other. That kid of his wants Billy in his patrol, too; they all want him. But Doc’s going to get him first. I’m afraid I’ll have to fall back on you for a pal, Arden. How ’bout that, Mrs. Cowell?”