"Baseball?"
"No, sir."
"Anything on the track?"
"No, sir."
"Sing?"
"No, sir," said Smeed, humbly.
"Do anything at all?"
Little Smeed glanced at the eaves where the swallows were swaying and then down at the soft couch of green at his feet and answered faintly:
"No, sir—I'm afraid not."