Dab Kinzer: A Story of a Growing Boy

by William O. Stoddard

That was all "according to contract;" but Dick did not come in for his dinner until the rest had eaten theirs; and then he barely had time to say to Dab Kinzer,—

"Did you ebber shell corn?"

"Course I have. Why?"

"'Cause dar's a bigger heap ob corn out in de barn dan you ebber see."

"Bigger'n Ham's?"

"Well, no, not so big as his'n, mebbe; but dar's more ob it. I's got it to shell."

Dab went off with the other two, vaguely beginning to ask himself if shelling corn came fairly into the proper meaning of the word "chores."

All that sort of thing was quickly forgotten, however; for there were a dozen groups of boys scattered here and there over the broad expanse of the "green," and Ford Foster at once exclaimed,—

"Boys, let's examine that crowd. It'll take all the afternoon to find what they know."

Getting acquainted is apt to be a slow process in cases of that sort, unless it is taken hold of with vigor; and Ford was the very fellow to hurry it up. Before the afternoon was over, every boy on that green knew who he was, and where he came from; and a good share of them had tried their hands at "chaffing" him and his friends. Of these latter it may safely be said that not a single one could afterwards remember that he had seemed to himself to get the best of it.