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.
"Can't. Going on an errand."
"Hey, Billy! how's your dyspepsia?" demanded another of the boys.
Billy grinned. Bobby exclaimed:
"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
