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Updated: May 13, 2025
Silvey braced himself for the spring. A rear window in the house creaked open and a woman's head appeared. "What are you boys doing?" called the shrill voice. They dropped over into the other yard, and John started to run. "She's in curl papers," said Bill. "She won't chase us. Let's fix her." "I'll call the police if you go through again," she persisted as the boys filled their hands with snow.
"Well," retorted John magnificently as Perry dropped his collection beside Sid's, "we didn't have to come at all, did we?" They apportioned the rusty objects and the broken chair and wheels between them and sauntered slowly homewards. It was easily dinner time before the street was reached, and the party broke up as soon as the booty was deposited in the Silvey back yard.
Near him in the street, a flock of hungry sparrows fought boldly over a bit of vegetable which had fallen from a passing fruit vender's cart, and in the clear, dancing air was a touch of elixir which set his pulses to throbbing. "Yes," he said, although Silvey had asked no question, "it's just peachy." "Isn't it?" acquiesced Bill. "And your mother's afraid you'll get hurt, doing it."
The sagging line grew taut and rose more and more from the water as an unseen something made a frightened break for liberty. John seized the handle as the rod threatened to drop into the water and jumped to his feet. "Gee!" he cried, half frightened by the weight and resistance of the fish, "Gee!" Silvey strained his eyes far out in an effort to descry the captive.
Sid made an announcement on the following Monday which made the postponement of that last bit of construction work imperative. "Saw the captain of the 'Jeffersons," he beamed as the little group gathered about him on the baseball diamond. "We're going to play 'em this Saturday." "What?" John exploded. Sid nodded his head. "They've got the best team around," Silvey broke out.
Everything had gone marvelously well with the exception of Sid. "If he quits early," Silvey consoled him as they sat on the Fletcher front steps just before bed time, "we'll win after all." "We'll have to," said John, stubbornly, as he rose in answer to his mother's call. "So-long, Bill." Nine o'clock in the morning saw the "Tigers" assembled in front of the Silvey home.
He scampered up to Bill's house, where the two boys retired to the chilly seclusion of the shack and compared notes. "We've got a fifteen-pound turkey," said John boastfully. "That's nothing," Silvey dug scornfully into the hard dirt floor with his heel. "You ought to see ours. Twenty pounds, and my, such a big fellow! Cranberry sauce an' roast potatoes, an' squash to go with him. Umm-m-m."
Its owner jerked a denuded hook high in the air. "First bite, first bite!" he shouted, for that honor was ever a point of spirited contest on the pair's many expeditions. "Hard?" asked John breathlessly. "Hard!" repeated Silvey, boastfully exultant. "Hard? Goll-e-e-e, yes. Didn't you see him? Bent the tip most a foot. Took the worm, too."
Along the narrowing, west pond, past helpless beginners whose efforts not to appear ridiculous made them doubly so, past staid business men, past arm-linked couples from the university dormitories, and out on the thirty-foot path of scraped ice which encircled the island. There Silvey slowed up. "Getting bumpy," he cautioned. "Watch out!" The warning came too late.
"I'll punch your face in, hitting me in the mouth that way." Brown was ever in ecstasy at the prospect of a fight. "Come on and do it," he retorted. "Didn't last football practice, did you?" Silvey doubled his fists. His opponent held his ground. The rank and file of the two armies dropped their cucumbers and gathered in a little semi-circle to watch the fight.
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