“Beat them, yes, and won the banner—champions again.”
“Won the banner—that’s good. And Richard L. Haskins won the quarter. That’ll look fine in the morning paper. Won’t the people at home read that, though? But, Mr. Ludwig—Stevie—how’s Stevie?”
“Stevenson’s all right. No, lie down—he’s not here. He’s gone to the station to catch an early train home.”
“Poor Stevie—I know—you don’t want to tell me,” whispered Dickie.
“Now, now, Dickie, I’ll handle the sponge.” Ludwig bent lower. “Sh-h-h! There, there, let Mac pull the hood over, and nobody will know. Go ahead, don’t mind me and Mac; we understand.”
Ludwig plied the sponge and MacArthur the towel. And so deftly did they work that in all that room no other knew that under the hood of the bath-robe they were wiping away Dickie’s tears of pity for Stevenson.
HOLDING THE PIPE
By Albert W. Tolman
As the father of Billy and Jack Remfry emerged from the sitting-room closet with the checker-board, the two boys sidled up to him. Billy hugged an armful of rockets, while Jack was generously laden with firecrackers and Roman candles. “Aren’t you going with us to Steel Bridge? You promised.”