"But otherwise I fancy I'd find them dead slow." "He'd play twenty-four hours at a stretch with Laura," was Phil's comment.
"Not to mention how long you'd play with Belle," retorted the senator's son.
"Dave doesn't care to play at all when Jessie is around," went on Phil, slyly.
"Neither of 'em cares to play--if there's a hammock and a chair handy," added Roger.
"I noticed yesterday, when Jessie and I were playing tennis, you fellows were so busy talking to the girls you forgot all about your games," retorted Dave.

"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.