"Yes, I do," the literal-minded Artie informed him. "There's going to be swimming races, and I'm going in 'em."
Ward choked over his oatmeal and Fred stared.
"Why, you can't swim, Artie," said Jess, who was apt to speak frankly.
"Yes, I can. I can swim some," Artie insisted. "I started to learn at Lake Bassing and I have learned some more here. The races are for everybody and they have gold pieces for prizes and I'll put mine in the Riddle Club fund."
He beamed upon them so generously, exactly, Fred said, as though he had already deposited the gold piece in the bank, that it was impossible to try to discourage him.
"But will such little boys go in the races, Artie?" Mrs. Marley asked anxiously.
"Oh, of course, Mother. And I'm bigger than you think I am," her son assured her.
"Is that why Joe Anderson came down?" demanded Margy. "He thinks he is a fine swimmer."
"Now, children, I don't want to hear you begin and pick Joe Anderson to pieces," Mrs. Larue announced half in earnest, half in fun. "I don't think you realize it, but every time Carrie Pepper's name is mentioned, or Joe Anderson's, some one is sure to think of an unkind comment and make it."
"You mean we knock 'em?" said Fred slangily. "Well, all right, I am afraid we do. Let's reform—but Joe Anderson is conceited; any one will tell you that."