The Lucky Seventh

“Not exactly. Those things that move are little tentacles with which it feeds itself,” said Dick, pointing again at the anemone.

“What’s it eat?” asked Harold curiously.

“All sorts of animal matter that floats around in the water and that is so small we can’t see it.”

Harold observed him suspiciously. “I don’t believe it’s alive at all,” he said presently. “It’s just a sort of seaweed, and it moves because the water moves.”

“Think so?” asked Dick. “Then put your hand down there toward it and see what happens.”

“It won’t – bite, will it?” asked Harold doubtfully.

“No, but it will show you whether it’s alive or not. You needn’t touch it,” he added, noting the other’s hesitancy. “Just put your hand near it or disturb the water.”

Harold pulled his sleeve up and cautiously thrust an arm into the pool. “Gee!” he exclaimed. “It shut its mouth!”

Dick laughed. “Doesn’t look much like it did, does it?”

“No; it’s an ugly little thing now,” responded the other. “Say, that’s funny, isn’t it? Guess it’s alive, all right.”

“Yes; and it knows three things pretty well: It knows how to attach itself to the rocks, how to get food, and how to shut up shop when trouble brews.”

“What would it do if you took it out?”

“Die. Besides, it’s stuck on there so hard you’d have to pull it to pieces to get it off. I tried it once when I was a kid, and had to give it up.”

“I’d like to find a sea-urchin,” said Harold. “I’ve got a lot of starfish and a horse-shoe crab and some razor-clam shells and two shark eggs. I guess I’ll get that big starfish down there, too.”

“What’s the use?” asked Dick. “It’s just like those you’ve got. Let the old chap live and enjoy himself.”

“I’ll get it if I want to,” replied Harold. “Say, what did you follow me out here for, anyway?”

“Because I told your mother I’d find you and send you to her. She’s got something to say to you.”

“Sure! I suppose you went and told her a lot of lies about me.”

“You don’t suppose anything of the sort,” responded Dick quietly.

“Well, anyway, I’m not afraid of her.”

“Of course not, but you want to do what she wishes, don’t you?”

“That’s my business,” replied the other ungraciously. “I do as I please.”

“Well, you’re a lucky chap, then,” said Dick pleasantly. “By the way, are you going to see the ball game Saturday?”

“Yes, I guess so. That is” – with elaborate concern – “unless you don’t want me to.”

“I was going to say that if you’ll ask for me at the gate I’ll pass you in, Harold.”

“Why, are they going to charge?”

“Yes; twenty-five cents.”

“Gee, they’ve got a crust! Who’d pay twenty-five cents to see a lot of wooden-heads play ball?”

“Well, we’re hoping a lot will. Anyway, you won’t have to. Just ask for me at the gate. I guess it will be a pretty good game. Do you like baseball?”

“I suppose so.”

“Do you play?”

“Sure! What do you think I am – a wooden Indian?”

“That’s good. They have a pretty good team at Rifle Point. Maybe you’ll make it some day.”

“There isn’t any maybe about it. I’m going to.”

“I hope so. Well, I must be getting back. You coming along? It must be very nearly lunch time.”

“No, I’m not,” growled Harold. “I’ll come when I’m ready.”

“All right. By the way, we won’t have any lessons to-morrow. Nothing doing until Monday. Meanwhile you see if you can’t get the better of that algebra, like a good fellow. So-long!”

“Long!” muttered Harold.

Dick pulled himself up and fixed his crutches and began the laborious task of climbing back up the rock and across to the beach. Fortunately his rubber tips held well, and he was soon at the top of the ledge. But there misfortune overtook him. Just what happened he couldn’t have told, but the result he was very certain about. For one crutch flew out from under him, he spun half around on the other and fell backward, his head coming into violent contact with the granite ledge. For an instant he was too dazed to move. His head rang and buzzed like a bee-hive. In falling he must have cried out involuntarily, for almost before he had gathered his faculties together and made a move to get up he heard footsteps pattering on the rocks, and then the anxious voice of Harold Townsend:

“Are you hurt, Lovering? What happened?”

Harold ran to him, and bent over him with very genuine concern.

“I – I’m all right, thanks,” replied Dick, a trifle vaguely. “I fell. That rock is some hard, Harold!” He rubbed his head ruefully and grimaced as his hand came in contact with the swelling bruise. “Just give me a hand, will you? And kick that crutch this way, please.”

“Here’s your crutch,” said Harold, “but just you wait where you are a minute.” He sped away down the slope of the rock, and Dick, with his head throbbing, for once could not but feel a qualm of envy. In a moment the younger boy was back. He had dipped his handkerchief in the water, and now he offered it a trifle shyly to Dick. “Put it on your head,” he said gruffly. “It’ll make it feel better.”

“Thanks, Harold.” Dick applied the wet compress to the bump. “It was stupid of me to keel over like that,” he said. “I don’t know when I’ve fallen down before.”

“I should think you’d have lots of falls,” replied Harold. “I think you get around mighty well, Lovering. How does it feel now?”

“Better, thanks. Just sort of give me a boost, will you?”

Harold assisting, Dick got to his feet, or, rather, his crutches, and, with the younger boy watching anxiously, went on down the ledge to the beach.

“You needn’t come unless you’re ready to,” said Dick. “I’ll be all right now, Harold.”

“I guess I’ll go, too,” replied Harold carelessly. “It’s most lunch time.”

They walked along in silence for a way, and then Dick asked: “Do you know who Caspar Billings has got to take Morris Brent’s place on Saturday?”