“Wasn’t it glorious!” cried Madge Tyler, as Tom and his chums came up. “I was just gripping the seat when you threw that last ball, Mr. Parsons.”
“So was I,” admitted Ruth. “Phil, I’m proud of you, even if you are my brother.”
“Humph!” grunted Phil. “If it hadn’t been for Sid’s home run we wouldn’t have been in it. The fellows who followed him fanned.”
“You should be very proud, Mr. Henderson,” remarked Mabel Harrison, who looked charming in some sort of a soft, clinging dress which I’m not going to describe.
“Oh, it was just luck,” spoke Sid modestly.
“Luck nothing, you old walloper!” cried Tom, thumping his chum on the back. “You just laid for that one, and lambasted it out where the buttercups and daisies grow.”
“Oh, how poetic!” cried Miss Harrison.
“Some ice cream would sound a heap-sight more poetic,” decided Phil. “What do you girls say? Will you come and have some?”
“Oh, I’ve provided a little treat for you boys,” said Ruth quickly. “By rare good luck Miss Philock, the ogress of Fairview Institute, is away to-day, and I secured permission from the assistant to have a little tea in one of the rooms. We three girls will feed you lions of the diamond, if you promise not to eat up all the charlotte russe and lady fingers I have provided.”
“Great!” cried Tom. “I haven’t the appetite of a butterfly, but——”