“Queer!” said Fatty. “I fell off the back stoop once, and ’most broke every bone I had. I didn’t really break any of them, but I ’most did.”
He popped a peanut into his mouth, and firmly closed the bag. Ernest Beezley glanced at him, then solemnly studied the sky.
“Looks like rain,” he said. “If it does, I won’t have to fly for a couple days. I hate to go back to the Aviation Field; so many accidents happening all the while. Funny one the other day. One of the best pilots out there. He had been eating stuff; ice-cream, I suspect. Anyway something cold and wet, and he followed it up with a bag of peanuts. I never felt so sorry for anybody in my life!”
“What happened?” asked Fatty. He cast a suspicious look about but every face was grave.
“Oh, he died,” said Ernest regretfully. “Nice chap. Gosh, I never hope to see anyone pass out in such agony! It took ten fellows to hold him, and then they didn’t. Just from following ice-cream with peanuts! About ten cents’ worth, I should say.”
“Pooh, that never hurt me,” said Fatty stoutly. “I wouldn’t be afraid to eat a bushel.”
“No, I don’t suppose so,” agreed Ernest, nodding. “Of course there is always a first time.”
He strolled off toward the court, and the boys continued to study the wireless and the cards. But Fatty stood thoughtfully contemplating the bag of peanuts.
“I don’t believe that,” he said, looking at Frank, who lingered.
“Believe what?” asked Frank.