“How'd you have caught 'em?” asked Van, scornfully surveying the square little country figure before him. “You can't hit any.
“Can't?” said Joel, the black eyes flashing volumes, and coming up in front of Van. “You better believe I can, Van Whitney!”
“Come out in the back yard and try then,” said Van hospitably, perfectly delighted at the prospect, and flying alone towards the door. “Come right out and try.”
“All right!” said Joel, following sturdily, equally delighted to show his skill.
“There,” said Van, taking off his jacket, and flinging it on the grass, while Joel immediately followed suit with his little homespun one. “Now we can begin perfectly splendid! I won't hit hard,” he added patronizingly, as both boys stood ready.
“Hit as hard as you've a-mind to,” said Joel, “I'm a-going to.”
“Oh, you may,” said Van politely, “because you're company. All right—now!”
So at it they went. Before very many minutes were over, Van relinquished all ideas of treating his company with extra consideration, and was only thinking how he could possibly hold his own with the valiant little country lad. Oh, if he could only be called to his lessons—anything that would summon him into the house! Just then a window above their heads was suddenly thrown up, and his mamma's voice in natural surprise and distress called quickly: “Children what are you doing? Oh, Van, how could you!”
Both contestants turned around suddenly. Joel looked up steadily. “We're a-hitting, ma'am; he said I couldn't, and so we came out and—”
“Oh, Vanny,” said Mrs. Whitney reproachfully, “to treat a little guest in this way!”