“I hope you’re satisfied,” Phil said grimly, while Dump and Monkey muttered about “Wacko’s spider,” making Leo feel worse than he already did. Fortunately, when Tiger came back, the bite washed and dressed with a square gauze pad fastened by adhesive tape, he reported that Wanda’s diagnosis was that there was nothing to worry about: he was still good for today’s game.
Later, just before powwow Leo came in from the cottage, where he’d been listening to records with Fritz, to find Tiger sitting in his bunk discussing with Phil the results of the game (Red Sox 9, Cards 2; Abernathy slammed three homers, putting Jeremiah in the lead for the Trophy at last). Leo looked at the bandage on Tiger’s leg, wanting to say something, but unable to find the right words. In the adjoining bunk the Bomber was thumbing through a dog-eared copy of National Geographic, studying a bevy of bare-breasted maidens. Suddenly he sat up.
“Hey, watch it, guys, here comes H ^ eart l ^ ess›” he said, and, stuffing the magazine under his pillow, he hopped out the side of the cabin to hang his wet towel and trunks on the line, while inside Jeremiah, Reece greeted his boys, then sat down on his footlocker and shucked off his tennis shoes. Removing his sweaty socks, he folded them neatly before dropping them into his laundry case. One foot crossed over a knee, he dusted his toes with foot powder before donning fresh socks.
“How’s the bite?” he asked Tiger offhandedly.
“Okay,” came the reply.
“Let’s have a look anyway.”
“No, really, it’s okay.”
“So let me see,” Reece insisted.
“It’s bandaged,” Tiger demurred. “Wanda said not to take it off.”
Reece scowled. “Look, Kemo Sabe, I want to check it, okay? So hop down here toot sweet and let’s have a look at it.”
Knowing better than to argue when Reece’s mind was set, Tiger jumped down from his bunk, hitting the floor hard. “It’s okay, I’m telling you,” he said.
“Good,” Reece declared. “But I still want to make sure. Jeremiah may be ahead on points, but we’ve got to stay that way if we’re going to cop that Trophy.” He drew Tiger to him and, using his fingernails, he lifted' away the adhesive strips so the gauze pad hung down like a miniature trapdoor. Leaning closer, he whistled softly.
“Whoa, now, fellah, this doesn’t look so good.” What had been a small red mark had now developed an angry-looking whitehead of pus at its center.
“Jeez, I thought you said it was clearing up,” Phil said. “It doesn’t hurt,” Tiger returned stolidly.
Reece got up and rummaged around in his footlocker. “If it’s come to a head, that just means it needs lancing, to get the pus out.”
“That’s okay, I’d rather have Wanda do it,” Tiger protested, trying to tape the pad back in position.
“Sure, sure, I know; but she’s not here.” It was true: Fritz and Wanda had driven into Putnam to see a movie show. Reece brought out his canvas sewing kit and unrolled it, slipped a needle from among several others, then meticulously rerolled the kit. He took the needle, produced a matchbook and, using his last match, passed the tip through the flame. He laid aside the burnt match and empty book, blew on the needle to cool it, then began to probe the head of the pustule.
Tiger squirmed. “Ouch, that hurts.”
“Come on, hold still, can’t you? Stop fidgeting.”
“I just wish you’d quit,” Tiger said.
“It’s got to be done, camper, if you’d just – godarn it!” lie exclaimed, as the needle escaped his fingers. He retrieved it quickly and, steadying his hand, broke the skin of the pustule, releasing the fluid. “There – see, all done!” He milled a tissue from the Kleenex packet on his shelf and blotted up the leakage, then deftly restored Wanda’s gauze |›. id with its adhesive strips as the other Jeremians burst into the cabin. liy all rights this impromptu job of surgery should Itave done the trick; unfortunately, it did not. Next day, when Tiger reported to the infirmary to have the dressing i lunged, there was a degree of increased inflammation that i iiused Wanda to wonder, but she washed the infection thoroughly, dressed it, and applied a fresh bandage.
“Better lay off the swimming for a day or two,” she advised. “And check back with me this afternoon.”
Though Tiger did his share of grousing, he heeded Wanda’s advice and stayed out of the water, morning and afternoon. But by the following morning he was limping, and, he announced, his leg had begun to throb. The boys watched as he peeled down the tapes and dropped the gauze pad. Overnight the inflamed area had enlarged to the size of a quarter, and there were Scarlet lines extending above and below the infected area. Again Tiger headed for the infirmary.
“What does it mean?” he asked Wanda, who put on her glasses for a closer examination.
“It means I think we’ll consult the doc.” Unfortunately, this did not mean Doc Oliphant, who night before last had turned the dispensary keys over to Wanda and driven to Hartford, thence to New York, for a medical conference. In the event of an emergency, she was instructed to seek out old Dr Malcolm over at Woking Corners, and this she now proceeded to do, using the office telephone. The doctor obligingly drove over and examined Tiger’s leg, pronouncing him a fine fellow but allowing as how they might do well to keep him in the infirmary a day or so, until the “local low-grade infection” was cleared up. To “take the strain off,” a Rube Goldberg harness was rigged up with ropes and pulleys and a window-sash weight that kept the patient’s leg hoisted into the air, and a prescription was written for the new sulfanilamide drug.
All afternoon Wanda’s latest charge garnered numbers of visitors who sat jawing with him and joking about his “torture-chamber rig.” Not only did the Jeremians come trooping into the room with Reece, at their head, but other campers from up and down the line-path paid duty visits, including Peewee, whose rambunctiousness became so annoying that Wanda banished him from indoors and he had to resort to standing on a box with his head inside the sickroom window. Even Pa took time out from his birding to pass by for an encouraging ^yord, while Hank Ives delivered Ma and Willa-Sue by jitney for a get-together. (Ma had baked brownies for general consumption, which she brought packed in a candy box.)
Only Leo stayed away, watching the procession to and from the infirmary with a heavy heart. Already he was being blamed for Tiger’s predicament, and though he was sure the spider’s bite had not been poisonous, there was no doubt that it was Leo who had put Friend-Indeed’s star camper in a position to be bitten in the first place. His anguish over this fact was compounded by his quarrel with Tiger. With each day that had passed since their foolish argument Leo had looked for a way to make it up with his friend, to have things as they had been before, had tried and had failed. But now… now he must get in to see Tiger and explain, apologize, he must. Around and around his thoughts went and still there was no resolution. Then, during powwow that evening, as the conversation turned to the upcoming glee-club concert, the answer came to him, and after supper he took his violin and crept up to the sickroom window, where he settled himself against the wall and began playing, listening for some reaction from inside. It came almost on cue, the mirthful sputter that said Tiger was getting it. l. eo beamed. Nurse Koslowski, however, didn’t find it so amusing. Leo had just reached the release when her reproachful features appeared in the window.
“Okay, wise-apple, what’s the big idea?” she demanded, poking her head out at him. “You think this is an amusement park or something?”
Leo grinned and shrugged. “I was just playing.”
“What kind of song is that, anyway?”
“ ‘The Music Goes ’Round and Around.’ Tiger likes it.”
“If he does, he’s the only one. Now suppose you just nut that harp away for a while and get your baganza inside here.”