"Look-e-e." He held up a chair minus one leg and a back for John's admiring approval. "Won't this be great for the shack?"
Sid and Perry turned and took a few steps toward Bill.
"Say," ordered the president and his secretary in unison, "get busy with those cans. What do you suppose you came over here for?"
A little later, John discovered a pair of warped, rusty bicycle wheels, and hastened over to Silvey with them.
"Can't we make a peachy wagon with these if we find two more?" he said excitedly. "Bet you anything she'll go faster'n the fastest one on the street."
Sid came up, his arms filled with tins. "That's enough," he blurted. "If you want any more, you can get 'em yourselves." He looked down sullenly at his rust-spotted waist. "Always the way. We do the work and you come along and boss."
"Well," retorted John magnificently as Perry dropped his collection beside Sid's, "we didn't have to come at all, did we?"
They apportioned the rusty objects and the broken chair and wheels between them and sauntered slowly homewards. It was easily dinner time before the street was reached, and the party broke up as soon as the booty was deposited in the Silvey back yard. John lingered a moment to help Silvey carry the junk into the "Tigers'" club house.
"Gee," Bill exclaimed as he gazed at the nondescript jumble, "I'll bet you it'll be a peachy time tonight."
John nodded ecstatically. Then a lump caught in his throat and held him speechless for a moment. After all, he was out of the fun, and he hadn't the heart to tell his chum, either. He turned to leave.