“You were it,” declared Jo.
“I was not,” said Tom decidedly.
“We will leave it to this storm to decide,” said Jo.
“All right,” agreed Tom.
“Jeems to be the referee,” said Jo.
This was likewise acceptable to Tom. The hail was now coming faster and of good size, about as big as the end of one’s thumb, but the boys did not seem to mind as they slouched along with their sombreros pulled down around their ears, thus affording pretty fair protection. Just then a big bullet of hail struck fairly on top of Tom’s skull and bounced, the others saw, about six inches into the air.
“Hurrah!” yelled Jo, “that proves it. You are it again. Isn’t he judge?” this to Jeems.
“You mean hit again, not ’it. I fear you are English,” replied Jeems.
“Don’t insult me,” said Jo, “I’m plain U. S. Southwest. But isn’t Tom out?”