“I’m not thinking in that direction,” returned Jack. “I am busy with my own affairs.” “I’ll build a boat and show you,” growled Sully, and he went off with Dixon, his ever-present toady. “Do you think he’ll build a boat?” questioned Harry, who was hammering away on one of the runners of the skeleton craft. “No; he hasn’t brains enough,” put in Boxy. “I don’t believe he could drive a nail without splitting the board, if he tried his best.” “It’s a case of sour grapes,” remarked Andy. “He is jealous because we are going off for a good time.” “Well, he and his crowd can go off on their own account if they wish,” said Jack. “We are not hindering them.” “Maybe he will take it into his head to go off, after we are gone,” said Andy. “He always was a great hand to imitate somebody else.” It was fortunate that the boys had the old blacksmith-shop to work in, for that day it began to snow furiously, and before nightfall the ground was covered to the depth of six or eight inches. This, on top of the layer already packed down, made elegant sleighing. “We must have a few more rides on my toboggan before we leave,” said Harry. “Let’s spend Saturday evening on the hill,” suggested Andy. “We can go early, and still have time to make final preparations for our tour before we go to bed.” The new fall of snow caused plenty of snowballing to occur in the town. The Zero Club took full part in this, and had one battle which was not soon forgotten. It was started by Bill Dixon, who had been “laying to get even” with Harry ever since the episode on the toboggan-slide. Dixon hung around Harry’s corner on the morning following the snowstorm, in company with half-a-dozen lesser lights of the Sully crowd. Under his arms he held several “soakers,” almost as hard as flint. When Harry hurried out of the gate on his way to do the morning work at his father’s store, Dixon took careful aim, and let drive with all of his might. The hard snowball took Harry in the left shoulder, hurting him not a little. Had it landed in his face it might have put out his eye or broken his nose. Harry staggered back, and Dixon, chuckling over the success of his shot, dodged behind a high board fence. “Give it to him, fellows!” he cried, excitedly. “Give it to him in the head!” Several more snowballs were thrown, but Harry was now on his guard. He dodged them, and began to run across the street, gathering up some snow as he ran. “What’s up, Harry?” cried Boxy, coming out of his house at the moment. “Some fellow hit me terribly hard in the shoulder. Come on!” returned Harry, and, in honor bound to help a fellow member of the club, Boxy ran after his chum. At the end of the fence they caught sight of Dixon and the others. A fierce fusillade of snowballs from both sides followed. Harry hit Dixon in the chest, and Boxy knocked off his cap.