“You got to mix it sometime,” interrupted Hal. “You got to know us kids.”
“Well,” said Bob, a little embarrassed, but shaking the hand of each boy, “my name’s Balfour. I’m here for my health—”
“So’m I,” laughed Hal. “But I go to school just the same. Pretty tough. You goin’ to school?”
“No,” answered Bob. “I’ve got to stay outdoors and rough it. I’m goin’ fishin’ with Captain Joe to-morrow.”
“Rot!” snorted Hal. “Ten dollars to a dago for a day’s fishin’? Not on your tintype. Stick to us, and we’ll give you all the fishin’ and the roughin’ it you want. And it won’t cost you nothin’—much.”
“What do you mean?” asked Bob, eagerly. “Say, you fellows are all right, and I’m mighty glad to know you; but ain’t it pretty quick work pickin’ a kid up on the street and offerin’ to chum with him right off the reel?”
Tom Allen reached out his arm and dropped it on Bob’s shoulders.
“Yo’ all’s comin’ aroun’ to my house now, an’ meet Mac. We’ll have ouah spread—Mac’s gone fo’ the pralines—”
“Here’s the idea,” broke in talkative Hal. “The minute we laid eyes on you, we cottoned to you. If Mac takes to you like we do and you don’t kick over the traces, we’re goin’ to ask you to join our club.”
“If Mac is your chum,” answered Bob, laughing, “I won’t kick. But I don’t understand—”