“Yes,” agreed Fred, “but there isn’t much nourishment in hope.”
The Rushton boys returned to Rally Hall, refreshed and rested, ready for hard work as well as for fun and frolic. The going of Andy Shanks had removed a disturbing element from the school, and the second term was much more pleasant than the first had been.
And now, they were right on the verge of spring. The ice had disappeared, the athletic field was drying out and getting into shape, and the thoughts of all were turning toward baseball practice.
Slim Haley was in the midst of one of his stories, when Fred, with a bat in his hand, burst into the dormitory one Saturday morning.
“Come along, fellows,” he called out. “Come out and get some practice. What do you mean by staying indoors a morning like this?”
“Just a minute, Fred,” answered Bill Garwood, for the rest. “Slim has got to get this story out of his system.”
“As I was saying when this low-brow came in to interrupt me,” said Slim, looking severely at Fred, “this cat was a very smart cat. And a plucky one too, by ginger. There was no rat so big that he was afraid to tackle it. And the way he went for snakes was a caution.”
“Snakes!” exclaimed Lester Lee incredulously.
“That’s what I said, ‘snakes,’” said Slim firmly. “There used to be a lot of rattlesnakes in that neighborhood, and the cat would go out hunting for one every morning.
“When he found a rattler, he would creep up to him, and the snake, seeing him, would throw itself into a coil to strike. The cat would hold up a paw and the snake would strike at it. But the cat was too quick and would dodge the stroke. Then, before the snake could coil up again, the cat would have it by the neck. He used to drag them home and stretch them out in the dooryard, so as to show his folks how smart he was.”