John dropped his shovel to the floor and seized a handful of snow. "Going to fight or get snow jobs with me?" he asked, as he pounded the mass into an uneven sphere. For an answer, his chum dropped his missile and ran around to the back yard, to reappear with his own shovel. He pointed down the street. Two members of the unemployed were making the snow fly at the DuPree's with an earnestness which boded ill for their youthful competitors. "Let's try Southern Avenue," said John. "Perhaps there won't be anyone there." No sooner said than done. But as they rounded the corner, they found that three of the "Jeffersons" had organized an expedition of their own and were cleaning the walk and porch of the house nearest the corner. Their leader motioned to Bill. "Go on back home, or we'll smash your faces in." John promptly stuck out his tongue. "They can't fight," he said scornfully, "and two of 'em are 'fraid cats. Let's try the big yellow house, Bill." With a glance back at the foe, they ran up the steps and rang the bell persistently until a becapped, flustered servant opened the door. "Ask the missis if she wants the walk cleaned?" said Silvey, who usually handled the negotiations for work. Scraps of conversation floated down to the boys from the upper regions whence the girl had disappeared with the message. Presently she came to the head of the stairs and called down to them, "How much you want?" Bill made a mental inventory of the appearance of the grounds as the boys had approached the house. "Quarter," he said promptly. "Missis, she say 'all right,'" said the maid. The boys stamped out of the hallway and set to work with a will. Silvey began at one end of the broad veranda floor, while John made the snow fly from the railings and porch posts. Next came the steps, and the walk leading down the lawn. "This won't take long," said John optimistically. He stooped to fix a shoelace which had become untied. Silvey yielded to temptation and gave him a shove into the heaped snow, to have him rise angrily and dig the half-thawed slush from between his neck and collar. Then he sprang at his partner and they went sprawling again, but this time, Bill was the underdog. The two boys struggled for a while until John sat heavily on his foe's stomach, and pinioned the resistant arms with his knees. Then the fun began. "Going to be good?" Silvey looked desperately up at the handful of snow held high above his head. [Illustration: _"Going to be good?"_] "Look, here, Fletch--don't you wash my face, don't you--" "Going to be good?" asked John again. His answer was a wrench for freedom. Thud, came a soft mass down on Bill's nose and open mouth. He spluttered and rolled over desperately, trying to throw John from his vantage point. The front door creaked, and an alien voice called, "What's the matter, you boys? Ain't you ever going to get finished?" They rose sheepishly to find the servant smiling down at them from the doorway.