es
added, "If you'd let him go more, an' didn't worry your head off when
he was out of sight, he'd amount to more."

Mrs. Jones always gave her husband three moves before she spoke. "Yes!
yes! you'd make that boy a regular little rowdy if you had your way,
William Jones."

In the mean time Harold Jones had heard a long, shrill whistle in the
alley, and, answering it, he ran as rapidly as his spindling legs
would carry him. He knew it was the boys. They were grinning broadly
when he came to them. It was Piggy Pennington who first spoke, "Oh,
pa, I won't do it any more," repeating the phrase several times in a
suppressed voice, and leering impishly at Mealy.

"Aw, you're makin' that up," answered Mealy in embarrassment. But
Piggy continued his teasing until Abe Carpenter said: "Say, Mealy, we
want you to go to the cave with us to-morrow; can you?"

The "can you" was an imputation on his personal liberty that Mealy
resented. He replied "Uh-huh! you just bet your bottom dollar I can."
Piggy began teasing again, but Abe silenced him, and the boys sat in
the dirt behind the barn, chattering about the new boy, whose name,
according to the others, was "Bud" Perkins. Mealy entered the
conversation with much masculine pomp--too much, in fact; for when he
became particularly vain-glorious some one in the group was certain to
glance at his shoes--and shoes in June in Boyville are insignia of the
weaker sex, the badges of shame.

But Mealy did not feel his disgrace. He walked up the ash path to the
kitchen with an excellent imitation of manly pride in his gait. He
kicked at a passing cat, and shook his head bravely, talking to
himself about the way he would have whipped the new boy if his father
had not interrupted the fight.

As Mrs. Jones heard the boy's step on the porch, she said to his
father, "Now, pa, that boy has been punished enough to-day. Don't you
say a word to him." Harold walked by his father with averted face. At
supper the boy did not look at his father, and when the dishes were
put away, Mr. Jones, who sat in the kitchen smoking, heard his wife
and the child in a front room, chatting cheerily. The lonesome father
smoked his pipe and recalled his youth. The boy's voice brought back
his own shrill treble, and he coughed nervously. After Mrs. Jones had
put the lad to bed, and was in the pantry arranging for breakfast, the
father knocked the ashes from his briar into the stove, and, humming
an old tune, went to