"My jinx seem to be working overtime," returned Frank, "and my guardian angel is out visiting somewhere. Did you ever see such luck?" and he deposited the injured leg on the chair in front of him.
"Bad judgment, my boy, bad judgment. You should have gone in for the less strenuous sport of rowing as I have," admonished the Codfish.
"A lazy, sit-down job and one for which you are peculiarly fitted," broke in Jimmy Turner.
"Ah, but my boy, if you can win your Y sitting down, isn't it better than to be mauled by bear-cats every day? I belong to the antisweat brigade."
"The only Y you will ever get is the one you find in your soup," Jimmy flung at him.
"Stranger things than that have happened, Mr. Turner."
"Yes, blue moons, for instance."
Codfish, fired by the general fever for something to do outside of the classroom, had indeed enlisted himself as a candidate for the coxswain of the crew, because, as he said, "You only had to sit still, pull ropes now and then and talk." He had been out as one of the coxswains and had shown some aptitude in spite of the fact that he knew nothing whatever about rowing.
"I'm paralyzed with amazement," said Frank, looking the Codfish over quizzically, "that you ever got ginger enough into your system to even do sit-down work."
"Well, you see it was this way," returned the crew squad-man, crossing one thin leg over the other. "I went down there to the boat house one day, merely to look on, to see——"