he drained his glass. "Now I can talk. I came in, Joe and Tom, to see If you didn't think it would be a good thing to have a fight."
"A fight! For cats' sake, who with?" demanded Tom.
"Are you spoiling for one?" asked Joe.
"Oh, I mean a snowball fight. This is probably the last of the season, and I was thinking we could get a lot of fellows together, make a fort, and have a regular battle like we read about in Cæsar to-day. It would be no end of sport."
"I think so myself," agreed Joe.
"Bully!" exclaimed Tom sententiously, burying his nose in his ginger ale glass. "Go on, tell us some more."
"Well, I was thinking," resumed Peaches, "that we—"
He was interrupted by another tap on the door. In an instant Peaches had dived under the table. With one sweep of his arm Joe noiselessly collected the bottles, while Joe spread a paper over the glasses. The knock was repeated, and the two lads looked apprehensively at the door.
