“Seems to me,” observed The Fungus, “that our diplomat isn’t on to his job. Are you—diplomating, Ned?”
“Sure thing. Diplomacy is brain-work. I’m thinking.”
“Don’t see why we gave the job to you, then,” muttered Hoop. “What we ought to do is to find where she keeps that pillow-case and go over and nab it.”
“Huh,” Dutch grunted, “I’d like to see anyone go prowling around where Miss Matilda would catch him.”
“Pshaw, what’s the good of bothering about that old pillow-case?” asked Spud impatiently. “She isn’t going to be mean. She’s just having a little fun with us. Look at Sandy, fellows; isn’t he having one grand good time?”
[Sandy was toiling valiantly, chasing balls on all sides of the court.] Molly’s efforts were ludicrous and pathetic, and for a time she couldn’t get it into her little head that there was any method to the game beside batting the balls back and forth. The supper bell brought welcome relief to her instructor, although he made believe that he simply hated the thought of stopping.
[Sandy was toiling valiantly, chasing balls on all sides of the court]