"Want any help, Dick?" asked Greg.
"I believe I wouldn't object to having a friendly arm to lean on," Prescott replied. "I've been standing here so long that my hip is stiff again."
As the leader of Dick & Co. moved down the road, Tag turned in astonishment.
"What's the matter?" Tag asked, at last.
"We were in an automobile accident, and I was slightly injured,"
Dick confessed.
"And you can hardly walk?"
"I can walk only with effort and considerable pain," said Dick.
Tag Mosher whistled softly.
"My luck is leaving me," declared Mosher ruefully. "Prescott, when I saw you and looked you over I didn't see that you are a cripple. I thought you were in as good shape as ever. As for me, I can't do much to-night, I'm so weak. I thought that, if I tried to fight, you'd handle me easily enough. If I ran, I knew I couldn't run far, and you'd jump on my back and bear me to the ground. So I thought it easier to let you have your own way with me. Whee! I didn't do a thing but surrender to a cripple that ought to be on crutches! My luck is gone!"
This last was said with an air of great dejection, as though Tag never looked to have any further pleasure in life. Presently he muttered, half aloud: