“Oh—hum! Well, anyway, I vow not to let my brains be scattered,” Dig remarked. Then he added complainingly, “I think my father is rather hard on me.”
“By the way,” Chet said suddenly, “queer why John Peep left town to live up there in that shack.”
“Give it up,” said Dig. “Perhaps he wanted to be ‘heap big Injun.’ I reckon all redskins are queer.”
“Now, Dig! Don’t you talk that way. John made us hustle in school to keep anywhere near him in classes. You know it.”
“Well! Tell us the news. Never mind about ancient history.”
“I found out that John wanted to play on the school nine. You know, the club’s going to play all this summer; some of the storekeepers have put up money to back it. And the captain and coach wouldn’t let John play.”
“What? By the last hoptoad that was chased out of Ireland! I’ve seen him pitch—”
“I know. He’s a great little pitcher,” Chet interrupted. “He’s a southpaw and he can puzzle most of ’em, you bet! It’s a mean shame. John Peep got sore and left town. Maybe he was sick of his family, too. They’re a lazy and dirty lot.”
“Whew! Can’t blame him for that,” said Dig. “They’re an unhealthy looking crowd. Old Scarface whitewashes fences for a nickel an hour and they live in a dirty hole of a cabin down in Hardpan.”
“John always looked neat and clean when he came to school.”