“He doesn’t seem to be round-shouldered,” whispered Felicia.
“Not—very—much,” faltered Dick.
“And he doesn’t look weak.”
“Not—very—weak,” admitted the boy.
“He doesn’t wear glasses.”
“He may have them in his pocket and put them on when he reads,” said the lad, as if he really hoped so.
“And he can ride well.”
“Pretty well,” confessed Dick. “But he’s just like the other one, in one thing; he acknowledged my brother as his superior.”
“I didn’t notice it.”
“I did. It was in his manner.”