“You ought to get enough exercise around here without putting on the gloves, Jerry,” said Mr. Doane kindly. As a matter of fact any one would have suggested the rest cure to put flesh on the thinnest boy in the crowd.
But the mention of athletics uncorked the most popular topic for male consideration, and in spite of the great outdoors all around them—the greatest kind of a day and the most perfect piece of rural scenery all the way up the hill, even over the county landmark, a huge boulder that was painted white and shone for miles around—every step and mis-step of the way the boys talked of sports. Boxing, baseball, skating, football and every other line of amateur and professional activity was discussed fully and enthusiastically, Mr. Doane acting as referee and umpiring the “meet” and its distant prospects.
The girls were gathering wild asters, golden rod and sweet fern. They romped about now with little Neddie as an excuse, hiding from him, teasing him with Indian calls and animal imitations, although Neddie was only tolerating their excessive attention.
“Come on and be Peter Pan,” suggested Gloria while she and Millie “boosted” the small boy into a dogwood tree.
This gave the embarrassed youngster his chance. The tree was heavy enough to climb and climb it he did, never pausing until he reached a perfectly safe perch far from the reach of mere girls.
“You’ll fall!” shouted Gloria.
“That limb is bending!” warned Grace.
“Come down, Neddie, the boys are going snake hunting,” tempted Millie.
But Neddie hugged a branch and swung on his limb in such a reckless fashion that Margie suggested making a life net.
How could they know how much a boy hates to be fussed over? Gloria was enough fusser, but when the others all piled in he felt like the prize baby at the Cattle Show—the one that was weighed right before everybody.