"And one of you was spouting poetry, about 'eyes divine,'
or something like that."
"Not me!" cried Roger.
"Then it must have been Phil!"
"No, it was Roger," protested the shipowner's son. "I saw him writing
poetry when he should have been sending a letter home."
"You go on, you manufacturer of bombastic fairy tales!" cried the
senator's son, and he commenced to chase Phil around the piazza. The
other boy leaped the rail and Roger followed, and then both commenced to
wrestle on the grass.
"Mercy me! What's going on?" cried Laura, coming from the sitting-room.
"Greatest exhibition on the globe!" called out Dave, in showman style.
"The two marvelous lightweights of the United States, Master Hitem Morr
and Lamem Lawrence. They will fight to a finish, without gloves, weather
permitting. Walk up, tumble up, or crawl up! Admission ten cents, one
dime; young ladies with grandfathers in arms, half-price!"
"Oh, Dave!" cried his sister, and burst out laughing. The noise brought
Jessie and Belle to the scene, and seeing what was going on, all of the
girls commenced to pelt the boys on the grass with tennis balls. The
"attack" lasted for several minutes, and then the girls ran away, and
the boys went after them, into the house and out again, and across the
yard, and then through the kitchen, much to the astonishment of the
Chinese cook.
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