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Updated: June 22, 2025
A five-minute stop at the Silveys sufficed to make the necessary alterations in John's equipment. Bill brought out his own sled, and they started for the corner. In front of the grocery store, they found Pete, the wagon boy, placing the last of the noon orders in his cart. "Give us a hitch," they begged. He nodded a cheery consent. "But hurry. These have got to be delivered in time for dinner."
He raced up to the Silveys, and found the expedition for cans starting out under the leadership of his chum. Once in the park, the quartette broke into impromptu games of tag, dashing over the moist grass, or halting to puff lustily that they might watch their breaths in the clear, frosty air.
The frame slammed to with a violence which threatened destruction to the window glass, and John grabbed his shovel with an exultant yell. "Now run like the dickens!" They parted at the Silveys'. John continued on a dogtrot towards home, and a moment later was pestering Mrs. Fletcher at her work in the kitchen. "Where's some rope, Mother?" She looked from the pile of napkins on the ironing board.
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