"You'd better get a new set of bones," said Ruth cheerfully. "Yours seem to be worse, even, than poor Aunt Alvira's."
"Nell believes that life is just one thing after another," chuckled Jennie Stone. "Having struck a streak of bad luck, it must keep up."
"You wait and see," proclaimed Helen Cameron, decisively nodding her head.
"That's the easiest thing in the world to do—wait," gibed Ruth.
"No, it isn't, either. It's the hardest thing to do," declared Jennie, and Ruth thought she could detect a shade of sadness in the light tone the plump girl adopted. "And especially when—as Nell predicts—we are waiting for some awful disaster. Huh—" and the girl shuddered as realistically as perfect health and unshaken nerves and good nature would permit—"are we to pass our lives under the shadow of impending peril?"
It did seem, however, as though Helen had come under the mantle of some seeress of old. Jennie flatly declared that "Nell must be a descendant of the Witch of Endor."
The company managed to make several scenes that day without further disaster. Although in taking a close-up of the charging Indian chief one of the camera men was knocked down by the rearing pony the chief rode, and a perfectly good two hundred dollar camera was smashed beyond hope of repair.
"It's begun," said Helen, ruefully. "You see!"
"If you have brought a hoodoo into this outfit, woe be it to you!" cried Ruth.
"It is not me," proclaimed her chum. "But I tell you something is going to happen."