ed for prizes of five- and six-for-a-cent clay marbles.
Occasionally two of the big eighth-grade boys would draw a six-foot
circle in the earth and play for "K'nicks, dime ones," and the game
would bring a crowd, three deep, from the neighboring players to applaud
or gasp at each shot.

Even John, man of business that he was, could not resist the temptation.
The last traces of that autumnal scorn toward "such foolishness"
vanished as he became the owner of two shooters and a pocketful of the
more common marbles.

The clan spirit among the different boyish cliques at school revived
again. Skinny Mosher, who had hugged the warm house during the coldest
days of the winter, caught suddenly up with John and Silvey as they
frolicked home for dinner, and brought the news that a "Jefferson Tough"
had threatened to punch his face in, with no provocation whatsoever. The
long-discussed secret code took a new lease on life, and cipher messages
passed to the various corners of room ten with a frequency which drove
Miss Brown nearly to distraction.

That early April afternoon saw the reunion of the "Tigers" in the Silvey
back yard. They viewed the dilapidated, weather-beaten club house with
reawakened interest. Quoth John,

"It's awful dirty where the snow worked in through the fence. Let's fix
her up." Down into the basement went Bill at the words, and reappeared
with an old broom, a hammer, and some nails.

"A lot of the boards are loose," he said, as the boys grabbed the
implements.

Sid stood around and offered voluble suggestions, but the others fell to
work with a will. At the end of a half-hour the dirt floor was brushed
free of debris with a thoroughness never attained on maternal cleaning
assignments, and the little desk was dragged from its winter shelter of
the house to occupy the customary position of state.

Red Brown stretched out on the springy, alluring sod near the building.
John and Sid, Skinny and Silvey, followed his example.

"Isn't this great?" the red-haired one asked blissfully. Sid reverted to
the cause for the summons of the clan.

"How about the 'Jeffersons'?" he asked.

Babel reigned instantly. Silvey was for picking them off, one by one.
Red counseled a sudden descent in force upon the home haunts of the
enemy. A rear window in the Silvey house creaked upward, and a feminine
voice pierced the sun-filled air.

"Land's sakes, Bill Silvey, get off that wet ground this minute. You'll
catch your