my foot struck it, and went on my ankle."

"Gee, that's hard luck!"

"I'd just as soon sprain a dozen ankles," answered Bert. "That isn't the
hard luck."

"What do you mean?" asked Tom.

Bert looked at him for a moment, then shook his head. "No," he said. "I
can't tell you. It's something we were planning to do, and"--he motioned
towards his ankle--"here I am. Perhaps I'll tell you later."

The flap of the tent was pushed aside and the Captain entered. He stood for
a moment looking regretfully at Bert. "I'm sorry," he said, "but the doctor
says it can't be done. Too bad!"

Bert glared at his ankle. "Well, sir, if it can't be done, it just can't."

Tom watched the two men, wondering what thoughts were in their minds. What
was this mysterious plan that was ending so badly?

The Captain spoke at last: "It's nice that you have your cousin here to
keep you company while you're waiting for your ankle to heal."

"He'll be with me longer than that, Captain. He's come to enlist."

"Good!" exclaimed Captain Moffat. He turned to Tom. "I 'll be glad to have
you, my boy!"