RADIO’S LONG ARM
“Well, fellows,” said Bob, when they were together that evening, according to agreement, “this is the last evening we’ll have without lessons for some time to come, so we’d better make the most of it.”
“Don’t mention lessons, Bob,” implored Jimmy. “Oh, my, how I hate ’em!” and he groaned dismally.
“You’ll soon be doing them, old timer, whether you like them or not,” said Joe. “It’s going to be a tough term for me, too. I’ll be taking up geometry this term, and they say that’s no cinch.”
“Nothing’s a cinch for me, worse luck,” said Jimmy, dolefully. “Everything I do seems to be hard work for me.”
“That’s tough luck, too,” said Bob, gravely, “because you hate work so much, Doughnuts.”
“There isn’t anybody in the world hates it more,” confessed Jimmy, shamelessly. “But that’s all the good it ever does me. Why wasn’t I born rich instead of good looking?” 63
“Give it up,” said Bob. “You’ll have to ask me easier ones than that, Jimmy, if you expect to get an answer. But as far as I can see, people that are rich don’t seem to be especially happy, anyway. Look at old Abubus Boggs. He’s probably the richest man in Clintonia, but nobody ever accused him of being happy.”
“I should say not!” exclaimed Joe. “He goes around looking as though he had just bitten into an especially sour lemon. Everybody hates him, and I don’t suppose that makes any one happy.”
“Maybe that does make old Abubus happy, there’s no telling,” said Jimmy, reflectively. “But I know I wouldn’t change places for all his money.”