“Don’t be foolish, Bart! What is it Lem; is your wrist broken?”
“Only sprained, I think.”
“Let me look at it,” demanded Alice, and, regardless of the crowd that gathered, when the five boys and two girls formed a group on the sidewalk, Alice proceeded to undo the handkerchief and other cloth Lem had wound about his wrist.
“Wait a minute,” said Alice. “I must look at my book on first-aid-to-the-injured to make sure what it is,” and she took a little volume from a bag she carried on her arm. Rapidly turning the pages she read:
“‘A sprain is the result of violent twisting, stretching or partial tearing of the ligaments about a joint, and there is often a fracture at the ends of the bones.’ Are you sure there isn’t a fracture, Lem? I’d love to treat a fracture as I never had a chance at one yet.”
“I hope not,” murmured the disabled pitcher. “It’s bad enough as it is.”
He was rather uneasy under the pressure Alice brought to bear on his wrist as she turned it this way and that, in an endeavor to see if it was broken.
“Do I hurt you?” she asked.
“Well—er—that is—no!” and Lem shut his teeth tightly together.
“Come right over to the drug store,” spoke Alice, as she led Lem by the injured wrist. He tried not to show the pain she unconsciously caused him. “I will get some hot water and hold your hand in it for an hour and a half.”