“Oh, I was only talking, mother. But some professional ball players are college men.”
Frank entered the dining room and sat down to the table. He was soon joined by his little brother, Georgie, and his sister, Ruth, who was twelve years of age.
“How do you get along with your lessons?” he asked of Ruth, who had been practicing on the piano in the parlor.
“I think I am doing real well,” returned the sister, who was very fair, with golden hair and bright blue eyes. “Professor Hartman says I will make a good player if I do plenty of practicing. And, oh, I love it so!” added the girl, enthusiastically.
“The one who loves it is the one who is bound to make a good player,” said Frank. “Now, there is Dan Dixon. His folks want him to learn to play the violin, and he takes lessons. But he doesn’t like it at all, and I am sure he will never make a player.”
“That is true in all things,” came from Mrs. Hardy, as she sat down to pour the tea. “If one wants to do well at anything, one’s heart must be in the work. I once knew a girl whose family wanted her to learn how to paint. She hadn’t any talent for it, and though she took lessons for two years she never drew or painted anything really worth showing.”
“I know what I like real well,” came from little Georgie. “I’m going to keep a candy store when I grow up. I like that real well.”
“Good for you, Georgie!” laughed Frank. “Only don’t eat up all the stock yourself.”
“Will you buy from me when I keep the store?” continued the little fellow.
“To be sure, I will—or, maybe, I’ll be a salesman for you—and Ruth can be the cashier.”