Dave leaped in at the other side.

The horse started away at a steady trot.
"I hope those boys have brains enough not to go right past the story," mused Bradley, gazing after the buggy before he went back to his desk.

"But I guess Prescott always has his head squarely on his shoulders.

He does, in school athletics, anyway.

Len Spencer is the man for this job, so of course Len had to be laid up with a cold and fever that would make it murder to send him out to-night." "Dick," muttered Dave excitedly, "you've simply got to make good.
This isn't simply a little paragraph to be scribbled.