“Look here, Bob Baker,” remarked Jerry Hopkins, rolling over in the grass, where he was stretched out under a big maple tree, “do you know it’s about ninety in the shade to-day?”
“Sure I know it,” replied Bob, breathing rather quickly, for he was quite stout, as his nickname of “Chunky” implied; and he had hurried from his house to see his two chums, Jerry Hopkins and Ned Slade.
“Well, then, if you’re aware of that interesting and very evident fact, why do you come around here, puffing like a steam engine, and making all sorts of a row, while Ned and I are trying to keep cool and improve our minds?” asked Jerry, pretending to be angry. “Why do you do it, I ask?”
“I thought you’d be anxious to hear the news.”
“What news?”
“Oh, don’t bother, Chunky,” put in Ned, stretching and yawning. “The best news you could tell us now would be that there was a freezer full of ice cream somewhere within easy reach. If you’re not ready to tell us something like that, why, take a stretch down here in the shade, and don’t puff so. You make me warm.”
“Well, say, if you don’t want to hear this, all right,” replied Bob, a little put out at the manner in which his announcement had been received.
“Oh, don’t bother with him, Chunky,” yawned Jerry. “If you have any news to tell, let it go. I’m listening. What’s it about? Has our gold mine failed, or has Professor Snodgrass discovered some new species of man-eating hoptoad?”
“It’s got nothing to do with Professor Snodgrass, or our gold mine, either,” responded Bob. “But there’s going to be a great carnival at Broadlands, and I thought maybe——”