“All right, if you like it, come on with me this summer,” invited Bill.
“Here’s this old job,” said Eddie. “I started it and I am going to finish.”
“Hello, who’s this coming? You don’t suppose Fatty Bascom is going to take to playing tennis!”
Both boys propped their heads up and watched the approach of an excessively fat boy. He was so fat that his stockings looked stretched, his knicker-bockers were too tight to look like knickerbockers, and his sweater fitted like a glove. It was an old sweater and would have bagged on any other boy. A small cap perched on the extreme back of his head. A tennis racket was under one arm and a small paper bag was in that hand, while the free hand held an ice-cream cone on which he was nibbling. He did not eat as though he was hungry. Anyone could see that it was simply force of habit.
“What cher got in the bag?” demanded Eddie as soon as the fat boy came within earshot.
“Salted peanuts,” replied the boy and, approaching, stood looking down at the pair on the grass.
“Well, for goodness’ sake, don’t you mean to offer us any?” asked Bill.
“No!” said Fatty Bascom, backing off a step. “Last time I passed around a bag of gumdrops and you didn’t leave any. There was ten cents’ worth, too. I ain’t going to offer things.”
“I’ve a mind to get up and fight you!” said Eddie. “I know just where I could land a knockout.”
“Don’t you dare!” exclaimed Fatty. “I can’t fight. Mamma says it might hurt my heart, because I am fat.”