When Jess came out of the house there was a group of her schoolmates—and not all of them boys—at the foot of the Whiffle Street hill. Being towed by Chet’s big kite had became a game that all hands wanted to try. But the sun was getting warmer and the icy street would soon be slushy and the skates would cut through.
“I’ve had enough,” said Bobby Hargrew, removing her skates when she spied Jess. “The policeman has warned us once, and he’ll be mad next time he comes around if we’re here still.”
“Better get your skates, Jess, and try it just once,” urged Chet Belding, who was very partial to his sister’s closet chum.
“I can’t, Chet,” replied Jess. “I must do my Saturday’s marketing.”
“Hullo! here’s Short and Long!” cried Bobby, as a very short boy with very brisk legs came sliding down the hill with a big bundle under his arm.
Billy Long was an industrious youngster who only allowed himself leisure to keep up in athletics after school hours, because he liked to earn something toward his family’s support.
“Stop and try a ride, Billy,” urged Lance Darby, holding the cord of the tugging kite.
“Hey, Billy! how’s your dyspepsia?” demanded another of the boys.
“Now, don’t tell me that Short and Long ever has trouble with his digestion—I won’t believe it!”
“He sure had a bad case of it yesterday,” drawled Chet Belding. “At least, so Mr. Sharp said. Billy spelled it with an ‘i’.”
“Let me use your knife a minute, please?” asked Bobby, who was still struggling with a refractory strap. “No! just toss it to me.”
“That’s all right,” returned the small boy, with a grin, as he walked over and carefully handed Bobby the knife. “I don’t take any chances with girls in throwing, or catching. All my sister can do is to throw a fit, or catch a cold!”
“Ow! isn’t that a wicked statement?” cried Bobby. “You know it isn’t so. But you’re right down ignorant, Billy. You’re just as bad as Postscript was in Gee Gee’s class one day this week.”
“Who’s ‘Postscript’?” demanded Lance. “That’s a new one on me.”
“Why,” said Bobby, her black eyes twinkling, “I mean Adeline Moore. _That’s_ a postscript, isn’t it?”
“What happened to Addie?” asked Jess, as the others laughed.
“Why, she got befuddled in reciting something about an Indian uprising that came in our American History hour. It’s all review stuff, you know.