“Ow!” exclaimed Alexia, shrinking back.
“Oh, now you are hurt,” cried Polly. “Oh Alexia!” And she turned very white again. “Tell me where it is.” And just then some of the girls rushed up with the news, corroborated by the other passengers, that the down express had run into them,—been signalled, but couldn't stop in time, etc., etc.,—till Polly thought she should go wild before the babel could be stopped. “Don't crowd around so,” she cried hoarsely. “Alexia is hurt.”
“Alexia?” The noise, as far as Miss Salisbury's girls were concerned, stopped at once; and at last the other passengers were made to understand how it was. And Alexia, quite faint now, but having sense enough to hang to Polly Pepper's hand, was laid across an improvised bed made of two seats, and a doctor who happened to be on the train, one of the party going in to the theatre, came up, and looked her over professionally.
“It's my arm,” said Alexia, opening her eyes again; “it was doubled up someway under me. Oh dear me! I'm so silly to faint.”
“You're not silly at all,” cried Polly warmly, and holding her well hand, while her eyes searched the doctor's face anxiously. “Oh, is it broken?” they asked, as plainly as possible.
“Not a bit of it,” said the doctor cheerfully, feeling it all over again to make quite sure, while Alexia set her teeth together, trying not to show how very much it hurt. “It's badly strained,—the ligaments are;—but fortunately no bones are broken.”
“Oh dear!” groaned Alexia. “Now why can't it be broken?”
“Oh Alexia!” cried Polly. And now the tears that had been kept back, were rolling down her cheeks. “I'm so happy, I can't help it,” she said.
“And the very idea, Alexia Rhys,” exclaimed Clem, “to wish your arm had been broken!” and she gave a little shiver.
“It hurts just as much,” said Alexia, trying to sit up straight, and making an awful face, “so it might as well be. And I've never been in a railroad accident. But a sprained arm isn't anything to show; any baby can have that—oh dear me!”