awn and I'll see."

He struggled to his feet and was on the front porch before the kitchen
door had slammed behind him. Half-dried tears still streaked his face,
but a smile shone through them like the sun after a summer shower.

"Got to cut the front lawn," he said exuberantly, "but that won't take
long. She says I can leave the rest of it."

Silvey's face clouded. "They're waiting for us in the big lot."

"Won't take long if you help me," John hinted gently. "You run the mower
and I'll follow with the rake."

He darted back into the house and down into the dark, badly ventilated
basement. Silvey sauntered around to the side, just in time to hear him
struggling with the rusty door bolt.

They dragged the implements up the area steps and set to work grimly. No
time to be spent in making erratic circles or decorative designs in the
long grass now. Up and down, up and down, the mower whirred with
methodical thoroughness until the little plot had been cut after a
fashion.

"Guess that'll do," said John as they bumped the tools down the rickety
wooden steps and left them lying in the doorway.

"Going to tell her you're finished?"

Mrs. Fletcher's son shook his head vigorously. "S'pose I want to trim
the edges with the shears? Come on. Beat you over the tracks!"

The lot where the boys had held their first football practice was large
and occupied more than half of the double city block on which the dairy
farm was located. The far end was flanked by a row of red, ramshackle
frame stores, occupied by photographers, art dealers, and a Greek ice
cream soda shop. A little further in and along the railroad fence, dense
weeds flourished, topping at times even the tallest of the boys. Nearer
to the dairy, short, sparse grass struggled for existence under a
profusion of tin cans, charred wood, and broken milk bottles. A
considerable area had been cleared of these impediments, and formed the
boys' athletic grounds. Near one corner stood a monster pile of barrels
and boxes, collected some months past, for a bonfire; but the policeman
on the beat had interfered with a threat of arrest for the whole tribe,
and the giant conflagration had not taken place.

The pair were greeted with shouts as they jumped down from the railroad
fence.

"What took you so long?" Sid DuPree asked.

John explained. The members of the gang offered congratulations at the
escape, or sympathized with him over the work yet to be done, according
to t