Spide, however, had taken the matter most philosophically. He had recognized that he could not hope to compete with a youth who possessed unlimited wealth, which he was willing to lay out on chewing-gum and candy, his experience being that the sex was strictly mercenary and incapable of a disinterested love. Of course he had much admired Miss Poppleton; from the crown of her small dark head, with its tightly braided “pig-tails,” down to her trim little foot he had esteemed her as wholly adorable; but, after all, his affair of the heart had been an affair of the winter only. With the coming of summer he had found more serious things to think of. He was learning to swim and to chew tobacco. The mastering of these accomplishments pretty well occupied his time. “Say!” he repeated, “got another?” Still Clarence blinked at the fierce sunlight which danced on the rails, and said nothing. Spide slid skilfully down from his perch, but his manner had undergone a change. “Who throwed that snipe away, anyhow?” he asked, disdainfully. Clarence turned his eyes slowly in his direction. “Lookee here. You fellows got to keep out of these yards, or I'll tell McClintock. First we know some of you kids will be getting run over, and then your folks will set up a lively howl. Get on out! It ain't no place for little boys!” He put the cigarette between his lips and took a deep and tantalizing pull at it. Spide kept to his own side of the ditch that ran between the fence and the tracks. “Huh!” with infinite scorn. “Who's a kid? You won't be happy till I come over there and lick you!” “First thing I know you'll be stealing scrap iron!” “My gosh! The Huckleberry'd have to stop running if I swiped a coupling-pin!” Clarence had recourse to the cigarette, and again Spide was consumed with torturing jealousies. “Where did you shoot that snipe, anyhow?” he inquired, insultingly. Once more Clarence allowed his glance to stray off up the tracks. “For half a cent I'd come across and do what I say!” added Spide, stooping down to roll up his trousers leg, and then easing an unelastic “gallus” that cut his shoulders. This elicited a short and contemptuous grunt from Clarence. He was well pleased with himself. He felt Spide's envy. It was sweet and satisfying. “Say!” with sudden animation. “You fellers will be going around on your uppers in a day or so. I'll bet you'd give a heap to know what I know!” “I wouldn't give a darned cent to know all you know or ever will know!” retorted Clarence, promptly. “Some people's easily upset here in the cupola,” tapping his brimless covering. “I wouldn't want to give you brain-fever; I don't hate you bad enough.” “Well, move on. You ain't wanted around here. It may get me into trouble if I'm seen fooling away my time on you.”