Frank shook before their eyes a letter that he held open in his hand.
"It's from my brother George," he explained. "It came in the first mail this morning."
Then he paused and pretended to read the letter over again, watching, out of the corner of his eye, his companions fairly dancing with impatience.
"What are you so slow about?" wailed Sammy.
"Get a move on!" Bob fairly shouted.
"What's your hurry?" drawled Frank, as he pretended to puzzle over the writing.
"I guess I can make it out," he said at last, hopefully.
"Of course you can make it out," fretted Sammy, wild with impatience.
"You didn't have any trouble reading it before," grumbled Bob, suspiciously.
"This light isn't any too good," remarked Frank, squinting up his eyes.