The Grammar School Boys in Summer Athletics | Page 4

this glorious June Sunday afternoon, we find our
schoolboy friends enjoying the sacred day quietly, yet looking forward
to the opening of the contests on the diamond between the three local
Grammar Schools, the North, Central, and South Grammars.
The road they had chosen on this Sunday afternoon was one over which
they had seldom traveled. It was not the road to Norton's Woods, to the
great forest, nor yet the one that went by the "haunted schoolhouse." It
was in a wholly different direction from Gridley.
"It's a long way home, this," complained Tom Reade, as the boys
plodded along the dusty highway. "And I'm hungry."
"Hungry?" snorted Darrin. "Of course you are. You fellows sang a
verse to me a while ago. Tom, how do you and your fellow-porkers like
this lay?"
Taking a deep breath, Dave started to sing a travesty, to the air of
"America."

_"My stomach, 'tis of thee, Sweet gland of gluttony, To thee I sing!
Gland---"_
"Stop it," ordered Tom threateningly, as he advanced upon Darrin.
"Stings, does it?" inquired Dave sarcastically.
"Yes, it does," Reade retorted bluntly. "To my mind 'America' is as
sacred as any hymn ever written, and I won't hear it guyed! That's no
decent occupation for an American boy."
"That's right," nodded Greg Holmes.
"Well, I won't yield to any of you in being American to the backbone,"
Dave retorted hotly.
"Prove it," said Tom more quietly.
"I'll prove it by my whole life, if need be," Darrin went on warmly.
"Tom Reade, I'll be glad to meet you when we're sixty years old, talk it
all over and see who has been the better American through life!"
"Great!" laughed Dick Prescott approvingly. "That'll be a fine time to
settle the question. And that time is---let me see---forty-six years
away."
The other boys were grinning now, and Dave and Tom, catching the
spirit of the thing, laughed good-humoredly.
"But this does seem a mighty long way home," Dan complained.
"I can show you fellows a shorter way, if you want it," Prescott
proposed.
"We all live on Missouri Avenue. Show us," begged Hazelton.
"It's through the woods," Dick continued. "I warn you that you'll find
some of it rough going."

"Then I don't know about it," Greg replied with fine irony. "We fellows
are not very well used to the woods."
"It's twenty minutes of six," declared Dan, glancing at his watch.
"Some of us are in danger of eating nothing but cold potatoes tonight if
we don't get over the ground faster. Find the short cut, Dick."
"It starts down here, just a little way," Prescott answered. "I'll turn in
when we come to the right place."
Dick and Darrin were now walking side by side in advance. Right
behind them came Greg and Dan, while Tom and Harry, paired,
brought up the rear.
"In this way," called Dick, turning sharply to the left and going in under
an archway of trees. It was over velvety grass that he led his chums at
first. After something like an eighth of a mile the Grammar School
boys came to deeper woods, where they had to thrust branches aside in
making their way through the tangle.
"My Sunday suit will look like a hand-me-down by the time I get
home," muttered Greg Holmes.
"It does now," Dave called back to him consolingly.
"We suspected that Darry's grouch was due to dyspepsia," laughed
Holmes. "Now I am sure of it. David, little giant, take my advice---fast
to-night."
"I will, if the rest of you fellows will," challenged Darrin quickly.
"The truth is out," Tom burst out laughing. "Darry, by that slip of the
tongue you admitted that you've been eating too much and that you're
all out of sorts."
Dave did not deny. He merely snorted, from which sign of defiance his
chums could gain no information.
They had gone another quarter of a mile through the woods when Dick,

now alone in the lead, suddenly halted, holding up one hand as a signal
to halt, while he rested the fingers of his other hand over his lips as a
command for silence.
"What is it?" whispered Darrin, stepping close.
"Fred Ripley, Bert Dodge and some of their fellows," Dick whispered,
at the same time pointing through the leaves.
"Well, we don't have to halt, just because they're around," retorted
Darrin, snorting. "If they try to pick any trouble with us we can give
'em as good as they send. We've done it once or twice already."
"But we don't want to go to fighting on Sunday, if there's any way to
avoid it," young Prescott urged, at which four of his chums nodded
their heads approvingly.
"I'm not looking for any fight, either," muttered Dave. "Yet it goes
against the grain to