"Well, come on and see what news Andy and Frank have," suggested Donald Burgess. "They're always doing something different, and there's no telling what it will be this time."
"That's right," agreed his chums, and they soon surrounded the two lads whose coming seemed to so liven up matters at Riverview Hall.
"How about you, Frank?" asked Ward Platt, as he grasped the elder of the two brothers by the hand.
"Fine," was the rather quiet answer. "And how about you and the other fellows?"
"Slick as axle grease," was the jolly answer.
"What have you been doing with yourself, Andy?" inquired Jack Sanderson, as he clapped the younger Racer lad on the back with such force that Andy gave forth a sound like a small bass drum.
"Prac-practicing!" gasped Andy, as soon as he could get his breath. "Just—practicing, Jack."
"Practicing what, you old mush-eater?" demanded the other. "Have you some new kind of baseball dope, or is it some place to go camping up at the North Pole?"
"Just practicing," replied Andy, who seemed to be trying to get in a certain position in regard to Jack. "Practicing this, old man!" he suddenly exclaimed, and with a quick push, a motion of his foot, and a shove, he sent Jack sprawling backward in the grass.
"That's one for you, Jack!" exclaimed Ward.