"Therefore now's the time for you to come in from practice. It's all right under conditions that demand it, to put everything you've got on the ball and work till the old wing just about drops off. But overwork in practice is as foolish and harmful as too little work. Some fellows, who might be pitchers, kill their arms before they ever get into any real games."
Pence did not scoff at this. There was nothing offensive or "preachy" in the way Rex spoke. His manner was as sincere and friendly as if Horace had been one of his chosen chums.
That afternoon the mainland grew hazy, clouds began to gather, and a threatening sky presaged heavy weather.
"Seems to me those canoeing fellows have bad luck," Red Phillips said, as the Walcott Hall boys lazed around the campsite waiting for a contrary fire to burn up briskly so supper could be made. "Look at it now."
"Hasn't that Injun and Kirby got back?" questioned Peewee.
"If they have, I don't see the second canoe over there," Red yawned.
"If they haven't started from Blackport by this time somebody'll tell them not to," Midkiff said.
"They had a leg-o'-mutton sail," said Kingdon. "They could skim over with this breeze. It won't rain yet awhile, and the wind's only puffy."
"I'd rather be on terra firma just the same than out in a canoe on this sound," Red declared.
Without feeling any disturbance about the absent Indian and Kirby, Kingdon climbed to a point above the camp where he could see far away along the sound shore of the island to the westward. In fact, he stood upon the great gray bowlder which had already attracted his attention.