IN WHICH SOME ONE BECOMES A VICTIM
When Sid and Tom, after glee club practice that night, were ascending the stairs to their floor, Sid stumbled, about half way up the flight. To save himself from a fall he put out his left hand, and came down heavily on it. As he did so he uttered an exclamation of pain.
“What’s the matter?” asked Tom.
“Gave my thumb a fierce wrench! It hurts like blazes! Why didn’t you tell me I was going to fall, and I’d have stayed in to-night?” he asked half humorously.
“I’m not a prophet,” replied Tom. “But come on to the room, and we’ll put some arnica on it. I’ve got some.”
Holding his injured thumb tightly in his other hand, Sid finished climbing the stairs, declaiming, meanwhile, against his bad luck.
“Oh, you’re a regular old woman!” exclaimed Tom. “Pretty soon it’ll be so bad that if you see a black cat cross your path you won’t go to lectures.”
“I wish I had a black cat to use when I’m due in Latin class,” spoke Sid. “Positively I get more and more rotten at that blamed stuff every day! I need a black cat, or something. Wow! How my thumb hurts!”
“Get out!” cried Tom. “Many a time on first base I’ve seen you stop a hot ball, and never say a word.”