Dan had been a newsboy in very early youth; but, after a stormy and often broken passage through the parochial school, he had won a scholarship at Saint Andrew’s over all competitors.
“An’ ye’ll be the fool to take it,” Aunt Winnie had said when he brought the news home to the little attic rooms where she did tailor’s finishing, and took care of Dan as well as a crippled old grandaunt could. “With all them fine gentlemen’s sons looking down on ye for a beggar!”
“Let them look,” Dan had said philosophically. “Looks don’t hurt, Aunt Win. It’s my chance and I’m going to take it.”
And he was taking it bravely when poor Aunt Win’s rheumatic knees broke down utterly, and she had to go to the “Little Sisters,” leaving Dan to summer with the other “left overs” at Saint Andrew’s.
“Swing up,” he repeated, stretching a sturdy hand to Fred. “Don’t be a sissy. One foot on each of my shoulders, and catch on to the bar above my head. That will steady you.”
Freddy hesitated. It was rather a lofty height for one of his size.
“You can’t hold me,” he said. “I’m too heavy.”
“Too heavy!” repeated Dan, laughing down on the slender, dapper little figure at his feet. “Gee whilikins, I wouldn’t even feel you!”
This was too much for any eleven-year-old to stand. Freddy was not very well. Brother Timothy had been dosing him for a week or more, and these long hot summer days made his legs feel queer and his head dizzy. It was rather hard sometimes to keep up with Dan, who was making the most of his holiday, as he did of everything that came in his way. Freddy was following him loyally, in spite of the creeps and chills that betrayed malaria. But now his brown eyes flashed fire.
“You’re a big brag, Dan Dolan!” he said, stung by such a taunt at his size and weight. “Just you try me!”