pendicitis.
The red-headed boy came out yawning, half awake, and raised his arms and
stretched until it seemed that he would break his back.

"You remind me of Indian summer," said the old man, as he stepped on the
boy's bare foot with his soft rubber boot.

"Oh, I don't know," said the boy, as he let out a secret school society
yell at some boys across the street, which brought them all over-into
the yard, as though there was a dog fight on. "Uncle Ike, you remind me
of Father Time, after he has been to a barber and got shaved, with your
smooth old laughing face. Why do I remind you of Indian summer?"

"Well, your red hair resembles the frosted leaf of the maple tree, your
brown freckles look like the dead and dying leaves of the oak, your
unwashed chalky face looks like the leaves of the ash, your sparkling
eyes like the dewy diamonds on the grass, and your sleepy look as you
just come from your bed makes me think of the hazy atmosphere that the
Indians loved so well. What all you boys around here for so early in the
morning, anyway, disturbing your Uncle Ike when he wants to think?" and
he grabbed half a dozen boys and piled them up in a heap on the grass,
and put one of his big rubber boots on the top one, and held them down,
squirming like a lot of angleworms in a tomato can.

[Illustration: Squirming like a lot of angleworms 185]

The red-headed boy took Uncle Ike by the suspenders and pulled him off
the boys, and then they all grabbed his legs and threw him down and sat
on him, breaking his pipe, and pulling off his rubber boots and making
him yell, "Enough!" before they would let him up, but he laughed and
spanked them with a leg of a rubber boot, and finally they all sat down
on the porch, panting, and Uncle Ike was the youngest boy in the gang,
apparently.

"Come to order," said the red-headed boy, and every boy took off his
hat, and braced back against the side of the house, and Uncle Ike looked
on, wondering what was coming next. "We have met, gentlemen," said the
red-headed boy, "to make arrangements to nominate Dewey for President.
We have watched the manner in which the people have received him at New
York and Washington; have noticed his modesty and level-headedness, and
us boys, Uncle Ike, have decided that Dewey shall be the next President.
If any person has got anything to say why he should not be President,
let him speak now, or forever after hold his peace. It is up to you,
Uncle Ike, and this