“Say, they are going to make a stiff kick on old man Oakley working in the shops. They got it in for him good and strong.” He paused to weigh the effect of this, and then went on rapidly: “He's done something. Ryder knows about it. He told my old man and Joe Stokes. They say he's got to get out. What's a convicted criminal, anyhow?” “What do you want to know that for, Spide?” questioned the artful Clarence, with great presence of mind. “Well, that's what old man Oakley is. I heard Ryder say so myself, and pap and Joe Stokes just kicked themselves because they hadn't noticed it before, I suppose. My! but they were hot! Say, you'll see fun to-morrow. I shouldn't be surprised if they sent you all a-kiting.” Clarence was swelling with the desire to tell Oakley what he had heard. He took the part of a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. “Have one?” he said. Spide promptly availed himself of his companion's liberality. “Well, so long,” the latter added. “I got to get back,” and a moment later he might have been seen making his way cautiously in the direction of the office, while Spide, his battered hat under his arm, and the cigarette clutched in one hand, was skipping gayly across the cornfield towards the creek followed by Pink. He was bound for the “Slidy,” a swimming-hole his mother had charged him on no account to visit. Under these peculiar circumstances it was quite impossible for him to consider any other spot. Nowhere else was the shade so cool and dense, nowhere else did the wild mint scent the summer air with such seductive odors, and nowhere else were such social advantages to be found. There were always big boys hanging about the “Slidy” who played cards and fished and loafed, but mostly loafed, because it was the easiest, and here Mr. Tink Brown, Jeffy's logical successor and unofficial heir apparent, held court from the first of June to the last of August. The charm of his society no respectable small boy was able to withstand. His glittering indecencies made him a sort of hero, and his splendid lawless state was counted worthy of emulation. But Spide discovered that the way of the transgressor is sometimes as hard as the moralists would have us believe. It was the beginning of the season, and a group of boys, in easy undress, were clustered on the bank above the swimming-hole. They were “going in” as soon as an important question should be decided. The farmer whose fields skirted Billup's Fork at this point usually filled in the “Slidy” every spring with bits of rusty barb-wire and osage-orange cuttings. The youth of Antioch who were prejudiced maintained that he did it to be mean, but the real reason was that he wished to discourage the swimmers, who tramped his crops and stole his great yellow pumpkins to play with in the water.