“You can tell ’em you lamed yourself, can’t you? Cheer up, Dud, and come ahead before the crowd gathers. I’ll rub it for you when we get back.”
“Huh! I guess that’s what’s the matter with it now. You nearly killed me last night with your old massaging, as you called it.”
“It may hurt a little,” said Jimmy earnestly, “but it’s awfully good for you. It’s regular Swedish stuff, Dud. I learned it from a chap at home who works in the gym. We ought to have some liniment, though. I wonder if that liquid dentifrice stuff of yours would do.”
“I’ll do my own rubbing, thanks,” replied the other ungraciously. “If it hadn’t been for you——”
“Help!” wailed Jimmy, hurrying through the door. Then came the sound of quick scurrying in the corridor, and Dud, still mooning on the side of the bed, guessed that Jimmy and some other chap were racing for a bathtub. Dud hoped the other fellow would win. He continued to explore the lamed muscles of his arm for several minutes, finding a grim satisfaction in the twinges of pain he evoked. Finally, however, he slung the cords of his bath-robe together and dejectedly followed the others down the corridor. As luck would have it, three other youths were awaiting their turns at the tubs, while Starling Meyer reached the washroom at the same moment Dud did. Star fixed a haughty and scornful glare on the younger boy.
“I’m ahead of you,” he announced briefly.
Most any other time Dud would have acquiesced without a murmur, but this morning his peevishness made him combative and courageous. “Like fun you are,” he replied scowlingly.
A perceptible thrill went through the other members of the waiting group. Dud Baker and Star Meyer were going to have a scrap! They had heard of Dud’s fighting reputation, and now they were to witness an example of that youth’s quality! They almost held their breaths in the excitement, their round eyes traveling from Star to Dud and back again expectantly. Star frowned portentously.