“Not much. I’m almost at the bottom. Are you going to have the――the running gear the same shade?” “Yes. I thought first we’d have it lighter, but I guess it will look just as well to have the body and the chassis the same tone. Do you?” “Sure; more toney!” The boys painted for a while in silence. Then: “When are we going to get those things from the factory?” Willard asked. Tom shook his head. “I don’t know. Jimmy wrote to them again yesterday. He says that if they don’t send the parts soon he will go and get them.” “Fine!” laughed Willard. “The factory’s in Detroit, isn’t it?” “Yes. I wish they’d come, though. I’d like to have the car all ready when school closes, wouldn’t you? How long do you suppose it will take me to learn to run it, Will?” “Jimmy said he could teach you in two days,” replied Willard doubtfully. “But if I was learning I’d want about two months!” “Automobiles are awfully interesting things,” said Tom thoughtfully. “I’ve learned a lot about them, Will.” “I should think you might! You’ve been out here with Jimmy every evening since he started to wreck the car for us. Between that old book of yours and the questions you’ve asked I should think you’d be able to build an auto yourself!” “Jimmy knows a lot about machinery, and he’s been dandy about telling me things I wanted to know. When he assembles the engine again I’m to help him, Will.” “Well, I guess he will need help,” said Willard. “For my part I don’t believe you’ll ever get it together again. There, that’s the last. My, but I’m tired. Painting certainly makes your arm ache.” “You bet it does. Who is going to pitch this afternoon, Will?” “Chester, they say. I suppose there’s no use being captain if you can’t do what you want, but we’d stand a heap better show of winning if he’d let Billy Younger pitch. Chester hasn’t a thing but a fast ball and a sort of a slow drop that only works about once in ten times.” “Billy’s the best pitcher we’ve had since I can remember,” said Tom. “I’m glad we’ll have him again next year.” Tom gave a final pat with his brush, dropped it into the paint pot and sighed. “That’s all done. How does it look?” The boys drew back and observed their handiwork critically. “Sort of thin in places, isn’t it?” asked Willard. “Under the front seat there――――” “The varnish will bring that out all right. I wonder if varnish is harder to put on than paint.” “I hope not!” Willard groaned. “If I could afford it, Tom, I’d hire a painter to do the rest of the job.” Tom laughed. “Oh, you’ll feel better by Monday. Let’s go and wash up. Will you have some dinner with me?” “No, I told mother I’d surely be home. Why don’t you come over and eat with me? Then we’ll be all ready to start for the field.” “I’ll ask if I may,” answered Tom, as they clattered down the steep stairway to the carriage house below. “Sure your mother won’t mind?”