“He gets along mighty well, doesn’t he?” observed Gil. “Gee, if I was in his shoes, fellows, I’d have a grouch all the time. Think of knowing that you’ve got to go through life like that! Br-r-r!”
“Think of not being able to play football or tennis or any of the things we do,” said Poke soberly. “That’s what would get me, I guess.”
“He certainly can handle a canoe, though,” said Jim.
“And he told me last night that he could swim,” Gil added. “In fact he seemed to think he could do that about as well as I can.”
“I should hope so!” exclaimed Poke. “You’re a punk swimmer.”
“Am I? I noticed that I had no trouble swimming all around you last summer, Pokey.”
“Shucks! I wasn’t well that day. You know I’d eaten too much breakfast.”
“You usually do,” replied Gil sweetly. “I suppose you can swim like a fish, Jim?”
“N-no, I can’t swim much; I mean I can’t do many fancy tricks like fellows I’ve seen. I can keep it up a long time, though. I swam six miles one day last summer.”