“Come now, Harry, music’s all right,” Roy protested. “As for drawing—”
“It’s perfect nonsense! Why, I couldn’t draw one of those wooden cubes and make it look square if I was to try a whole year!”
“But you ought to like music, Harry,” said Chub. “You know you have a charming voice, a natural—er—contralto, isn’t it?”
Harry made a face at him.
“I can sing just as well as you can, Smarty, anyhow!”
“I hope so,” said Dick. “Chub sings like a coyote in distress!”
“There speaks envy,” murmured Chub sadly. “I have a very melodious voice, and the beauty of it is that I can sing bass or tenor or—what’s the other thing I sing, Roy?”
“Discord,” answered his chum unkindly.
“That is not so,” responded Chub indignantly. “To show you what a fine voice I have I will now sing for you that charming little ditty entitled—”
“Not much you won’t!” declared Dick threateningly. “If you try to sing we’ll thrash you. Look here, how about that letter? Have you heard from your folks yet?”