"I say, Bottlebury," cried Caggles, a youth who had a deal of confidence in his own powers, "I'll swim you this morning, and 'lick' you by a dozen yards."
"All right," said Bottlebury; "but you can bet your life I'll have the laugh on you! I've been putting in a lot of practise lately."
"That's what you always say, 'Bot,' old bird."
"Well! it's right enough. Whoop! Here's a black beetle in one of my shoes!"
"Don't kill it! It's mine," cried a lanky youth, dashing forward.
"Look here, Fuzzy, you beast," said Bottlebury, "you'll get punched until you're black and blue if you bring such disgusting creeping reptiles up here."
Fuzzy was an amateur naturalist, and delighted to keep a stock of living insects about his person, in pill-boxes.
"This fellow got loose," he said, as he fearlessly picked up the coal-black beetle and popped it into the small cardboard prison which he had ready.
"I say, 'Cag,'" resumed Bottlebury, "it's our turn to roll the tennis-ground."
"So it is," said Caggles; "won't it be hot work if the sun hangs out all day!"