“When I jump on being struck by such as this, it is time——”
He ceased speaking abruptly, and uttered a low whistle. The carriage was passing close to a street lamp at that moment, and the light fell full upon the object in his hand.
“What’s up?” queried Joy.
“Do you see the end of this bit of wood?” replied Clif.
“Yes.”
“Well, it’s broken sharp and clean.”
“What of it.”
Clif glanced at the lanky plebe for a moment before replying, then he said, slowly:
“This twig is not rotten, chum. Neither did it break of its own weight.”
Joy showed more excitement than his wont.