“What?” exclaimed Patty, looking at the stalwart youth in amazement. “Who’s going to break it?”
“I don’t know whether to go to the circus, and let a lion break it, or whether to fall out of an automobile,” and Roger smiled quizzically at Patty’s bewildered face.
“Oh, you’re only fooling,” she said, with a look of relief; “I thought you were in earnest.”
“And so I am,” said Roger, more seriously. “This is the truth: I broke my arm playing football, a year ago, and when it was set it didn’t knit right, or it wasn’t set right, or something, and now I can’t bend my elbow at all.” Roger raised his right arm and showed that he was unable to bend it at the elbow-joint. “It’s awfully inconvenient and awkward, as you see; and the only remedy is to have it broken and set over again, and so that’s the proposition I’m up against.”
“And a mighty hard one, too,” said Patty with a sudden rush of genuine sympathy. “Are you going to the hospital?”
“Yes; mother wants it done at home—thinks I could be more comfortable, and all that. But I’d rather go to the hospital; it’s more satisfactory in every way. But it will be a long siege. Now, Miss Grig, do you see anything particularly merry in the outlook?”
“Will the breaking part hurt?” asked Patty.
“No, I shall probably be unconscious during the smash. But what I dread is lying still for several weeks bound up in splints. And I can’t play in the game this season.”
“You couldn’t, anyway, if you didn’t have it broken, could you?”
“No, of course not.”