“You will please keep away from me. Haven’t you done enough damage as it is?” demanded Sam.
“That ith what I get for trying to be helpful,” answered Tommy in an aggrieved tone. “Any one would think I had broken your nothe on purpothe. I didn’t break it at all; the racquet broke it.”
“Never mind him. He doesn’t know what he is talking about,” soothed George. “Shall I hold his hands while you are making temporary repairs, Miss Elting?”
“If you boys will go way back somewhere and sit down, we’ll have the job done in a few minutes,” suggested Jane.
“Yes, please do not interfere,” urged the guardian. “Now, don’t jerk, Sam. I am going to straighten your nose.”
Sam winced as she pressed his nose back to its normal position, and his hands gripped a handful of dirt from the tennis court, but he uttered no sound. While the guardian held the nose in place she instructed Harriet Burrell how to place the adhesive plaster, which Harriet did with delicate, skilful fingers.
“Does it hurt much?” asked the girl sympathetically.
“Hurt? Oh, no. It is the pleasantest sensation I ever enjoyed. That’s what I’m trying to make myself believe,” he added, speaking thickly, so as not to strain the muscles of his face. “But how am I going to breathe?”
“You have your mouth left,” laughed Harriet.
“There,” announced the guardian finally, “I don’t believe a surgeon could have done better. How do you think he looks, boys?”