"Dear me!" murmured Laura, "it is not in your province to use such slang, Lance. Leave that to Chet and Bobby."
"Hey, Pretty!" Chet shouted to the very dandified lad, as he crossed the street toward them. "What luck, old top?"
Although when they had first seen him, Prettyman Sweet was undoubtedly footsore, he began to strut now and pride "fairly exuded from his countenance," as Jess whispered to her chum.
"Did you get any cottontails?" demanded Lance.
"Oh, a few--a few, muh boy," declared Pretty Sweet airily.
Then they saw that he had a game bag slung over his shoulder in true sportsman style.
"I did not suppose you would go out to shoot the poor, innocent little rabbits, Mr. Sweet," said Laura, with sober face but dancing eyes. "They have never done you any harm."
"I bet a real bad rabbit would make Purt run," muttered Bobby.
"Oh, Miss Belding!" said the school dandy. "You know I'm awf'ly keen on sport--awf'ly keen, doncher know. I just have to get a day now and then in the woods, when game is in season."
"He's as keen on it as the two Irishmen were, who went hunting for the first time," broke in Bobby. "When they sighted a bird sitting on a bush Meehan took very careful aim and prepared to fire. Said his friend, grabbing him by the arm: