The Grammar School Boys in Summer Athletics | Page 2

lack of interest in the talk, Darrin rolled over on his side,
turning his gaze away from the other boys. In another minute Dave's
eyes were closed, his lips open and his breath coming regularly and
audibly.
Such was the droning effect of the warm June breezes on this glorious
afternoon.
"Give Dave the chorus of 'He Was the Sleepiest Boy,'" whispered Greg
to the others. "Put a lot of steam into every line!"
At a sign from young Holmes the drowsy chorus rolled out, punctuated
by timely yawns.
Darry rolled over, yawning, too, an easy-going smile on his face.
"Greg," he charged, "I'm certain that you put the crowd up to that
outrage. When I summon up energy enough I'm going to thrash you."
"All right," agreed Greg, "I'll take boxing lessons within a year or two,
so as to be prepared for you."
"I wish this were to-morrow afternoon," grumbled Harry Hazelton.
"I'm glad it's to-day," sighed Dave easily.
"But to-morrow will be Monday, and we can play baseball."

"And just because to-morrow will be Monday," retorted Dave, "Old
Dut will expect us to bring in those fifteen examples in insurance."
"We'll be all past that, by afternoon," Dan broke in. "Then, as soon as
the bell rings to dismiss school, we'll all pile outside and have a ripping
practice on the diamond."
"Yes; we'll have to get a lot of practice," Dick assented. "Otherwise,
you know, the North Grammar will just wipe up the field with us
Wednesday afternoon."
"The North Grammar!" sniffed Greg scornfully. "Hi Martin's crowd?
Huh!"
"Those North Grammar boys have been practising," Dick insisted.
"Hard work is what tells in athletics."
"Well, hang it, didn't you keep us running all through the spring?"
demanded Dalzell. "Didn't you say that would put us away at the top in
Grammar School baseball?"
"It will help us a long way," assented Dick. "Yet it won't do everything.
Each of us has to be as nearly perfect as possible in the position that he
has to play. That's why we really need a lot more practice than we've
had on the real field."
"The worst of it is" suggested Tom, "that we've got all of the best
players in the school on our regular nine, and the scrub nine isn't made
up of fellows who can really give us any work."
"Don't croak, Dick," begged Dave. "This day is too perfect to have it
spoiled by any calamity howling."
Presently Darrin rolled over on his side once more. Greg took a peep,
became suspicious, and started to hum:
"He was the Sleepiest Boy."
Smack! came a small sod, with which Dave had slyly provided himself

in advance.
"Ugh! Gr-r-r-r!" sputtered young Holmes, leaping to his feet and
spitting out the stuff from his mouth. It was mostly the grass side of the
sod that had struck his teeth, but a little of the loam had gone in with it.
"Good enough for me, I suppose," grimaced Greg, seating himself once
more when he had cleaned his mouth fairly well. Dave, who had turned
over to grin at Greg, soon rolled back to his old posture on the grass.
Greg, however, was not disposed to let the matter pass as easily as the
others imagined. Shortly Holmesy jumped astride of Dave and rolled
that youth over on to his back.
"I didn't eat all of the sod," young Holmes announced. "You may have
the rest, Darry. How does it taste?"
Dave shut his mouth tightly, but Greg held his nostrils. The instant that
Darrin opened his mouth for air Holmes rammed in the piece of sod.
Then he jumped up, retreating.
It was now Dave's turn to jump up and work vigorously getting the
stuff out of his month.
"Tastes immense, doesn't it, Dave?" called Holmes tantalizingly.
No answer in words came from Darrin, but he suddenly wheeled,
charging straight at Greg. Doubtless the latter would have gotten out of
the way safely, but that Dick thrust out a foot, tripping Dave as he
bounded by.
Darrin came down upon his knees. The hotheaded youth was now very
close to being angry in earnest.
"Hold up, Dave!" Prescott advised. "You started it, you know. You will
have to show that a joke is just as funny whether it's going or coming."
"That's right, old chap," agreed Dave, halting and beginning to cool.
"Greg, come here and shake hands."

"You shake hands with Tom," Holmes retorted suspiciously. "I appoint
Tom my substitute, with full powers."
"I'd sooner fight Tom than you," mused Dave, gazing down at Reade,
who did not appear to be very much disturbed. "Tom is the fellow
who's always bringing his appetite along on the finest days that heaven
has sent us."
Dick Prescott lazily drew out his watch