"Joe," said Sim Vedder, "hand me that kite of yours."
"Mine's a di'mond. I don't know how to make any other."
"Do you suppose it'll stand steady, with those fore-bands so close together? No, it won't. Up with it, and see how it'll wiggle. Bob Jones, is that yours?"
The third kite was meekly handed to him, for the more the boys stared at Sim's big kite, the more they believed he knew what he was talking about.
"It isn't a bad kite, but those fore-bands are crossed too low. It'll dive all over."
"There's plenty of tail, Sim. It can't dive."
"Tail!—and a bunch of May-weed at the end of it! How's a kite of that size to lift it all? I'll show you," replied Sim.
He was unfastening the fore-bands as he spoke, and now he crossed them again over his little finger, and moved them along till the kite swung under them, almost level.
"That'll do. Now I'll tie 'em hard, and you can cut off your May-weed. There'll be tail enough without it. When I was in China—"
"Was you ever in China?"