“That’s one on you, Jimmy, old boy,” chuckled Joe. “It melted away while you were listening to the prof.”
“It’s an ill wind that blows nobody good,” said Herb complacently. “Jimmy meant to put that down my back.”
“Oh, there are plenty of other pieces,” said Jimmy, as he picked one up and started for Herb.
Herb started to run, but slipped and fell on the icy sidewalk.
“You know what the Good Book says,” chaffed Joe. “The wicked stand on slippery places.”
“Yes, I see they do,” replied Herb, as quick as a flash, looking up at him. “But I can’t.”
The laugh was on Joe, and Herb felt so good over the retort that he did not mind the fall, though it had jarred him considerably. He scrambled to his feet and brushed off his clothes, while Jimmy, feeling that his comrade had been punished enough, magnanimously threw away the piece of ice that was to have been the instrument of his vengeance.
“The reason why I wanted you fellows to be sure to be on hand to-night,” resumed Bob, as they walked along, “was that I saw in the program of the Newark station in the newspaper this morning that Larry Bartlett was down for an entirely new stunt. You know what a hit he made with his imitations of birds.”
“He sure did,” agreed Joe. “To my mind he had it all over the birds themselves. I never got tired listening to him.”
“He certainly was a dabster at it,” chimed in Jimmy.