A roar drowned Billy, but at last they saw that he had more to say and subsided into an expectant hush.
“I propose we form a Good Citizens’ Club under Mr. Streeter’s system, ask the girls to join, and help the Playground Progressives carry their campaign for a clean playground, no improper language, and a larger respect for the teachers and law.”
“Well, I’ll be lead-dog to a blind man if that isn’t a little the rawest dose yet!” Even that bit of choice English did not relieve the Kid, for he stared silently around at the boys, evidently trying to grasp the situation.
“We got fool clubs enough, except for fun. I’m in for that any time, but not for more work,” an overgrown, bulgy-looking boy yawned.
“More work?” jeered Sis Jones; “did you ever do any work, Lazyleg?”
“Cut it! School’s rotten anyway,” the yawner returned; “a kid don’t need it like the old folks let on.”
“Any slob that goes to school after he’s out of the grades, if he don’t have to, is dippy,” drawled another.
Mumps stepped forward and faced them. Someway, when Sydney Bremmer, the ex-newsboy,—called “Mumps” from his heavy jaw,—when he said anything, people always listened in spite of his style of speech.
“I lay you’re mistaken, you wise kids. Thirty years ago a kid could get along in the world without much schooling; but now, if a man expects to do more than dig some other man’s ditches, he’s got to kick in for things he can’t learn in any grammar school. The chap that don’t know enough to go to school to-day is the one that’s dippy.”
“Hooray for Mumps!” Redtop bellowed with a grin of contempt at the bulgy one. Then to Billy, “What’s your scheme, anyway?”