"Now what does he mean by that?" asked Biscuit.
"He means they can't nobody play on this here court till his work is done," interpreted Gizzard.
"Well, you don't catch me doin' any of his work!" cried Stucky. "I got enough of my own!"
"Me neither—" began Biscuit, when Gizzard interrupted.
"Listen here!" he shouted. "Quit your beefin' and listen here a minute! I got a scheme!"
"If it's a scheme for us to do his work you needn't tell it!" returned Biscuit. "I've done more work this mornin' than he does in a week—"
But Gizzard brushed him ungently aside. "Dry up! Dry up! Cut out the noise and listen a minute! Three people can't play any decent tennis! We gotta have four if we want to play the game! It wouldn't take us five minutes to clean up his work—and it's his court, anyway!"
Biscuit yielded ungraciously. He grumbled all the way to the front lawn, and then suddenly became embued with enthusiasm, and took upon himself the honor of informing Sube that they were at his service.
Sube was apparently not expecting anything of the sort. "Do you fellows mean that you're go'n' to help me with my work?" he asked incredulously.
"Sure thing!" cried Biscuit cheerfully. "You don't s'pose we want to be playin' tennis out there while you're workin', do you? And besides, the court belongs to you!"