"'Tis a pity," said the kindly Irishman, who noted their approach, "but it has to be, I guess, kids. Yis, the other team went home, fifteen minutes ago. Said they didn't guess there'd be a game today." They stopped in dazed bewilderment to watch the progress of the foundation work. At last, John, sick at heart, slunk away. He wanted to be home, away from everyone until he could get control of his feelings. As he came down the street with his baseball glove dangling aimlessly in one hand, he stumbled over the Mosher youngster who was intent upon some childish pursuit in the dust of the gutter. "Get out of the way," he stormed angrily. To vent his disappointment upon even so small an offender was a relief. The infant smiled maliciously. "Johnny an' Louise, Johnny an' Louise," he chanted, reviving the cry of the autumn before. "Well, what about it," demanded John belligerently. "Louise had a soda with Sid. Saw her, saw her!" "When?" Had Louise, too, forsaken him in this hour of grief? "Yesterday. Sidney an' Louise, Sidney an' Louise," came the taunting revision. John's face set. All the wrongs which Sid had perpetrated since the Halloween party--the earlier sodas, the persistence which had culminated in the theater affair, the baseball election, and his arrogance since that time--clamored for revenge. He'd get even, he would. He'd go back and punch Sid's face in, and muss that new suit, and throw his baseball gloves up on a house roof. Then Mr. Sid would quit monkeying with his girl. The appearance of that gentleman around the corner put a stop to his meditations. John waited until he sauntered unsuspectingly up to him. "Say, Sid!" "Yes?" A note in the voice put the captain of the "Tigers" on his guard. "What's this I hear about Louise?" "N-nothing." "Been drinking sodas with her again, have you?" "Who told you?" Sid made a futile effort to edge past the inquisitor. "Never mind who. Promise not to do it any more or I'll--" He clenched one fist and drew it back threateningly. "Guess I won't," retorted Sid with sudden spirit. "Guess I've got as much right to drink sodas with her as anybody. Who's going to stop me?" "I am!" "You," scornfully. At this moment, the very cause of the dissension came skipping along with the inevitable package from the grocery under one arm. Feminine intuition told her that trouble was lurking in the air, and she would have passed but John held up a detaining hand. "Louise, you've been drinking sodas with Sid again." "Haven't either," in the same breath came the admission, "who told you?" John gave her a searching glance. "Tell this _guy_," he said with infinite scorn, "that you won't have anything more to do with him. Tell him you're my girl, Louise," he added incautiously. The lady's head went back to a warning angle. "Go on!" John ordered.