About This Book
"Nothing to do till tomorrow!" sang out Bob Layton, as he came out of high school at Clintonia on Friday afternoon, his books slung over his shoulder, and bounded down the steps three at a time. "And not much to do then, except just what we want to," chimed in Joe Atwood, throwing his cap into the air and catching it deftly as it came down. "You fellows do just love to work, don't you?" put in Herb Fennington, with an air of self-righteousness that was belied by the merry twinkle in his eyes. "Oh, we just dote on it," replied Bob. "Work is our middle name," asserted Joe. "In fact we lie awake nights trying to conjure up something to do." "Regular pair of Work Hard twins—I don't think," declared Jimmy Plummer. "Now as for me——" "Yes?" said Herb, with an assumption of polite interest. "As for me," repeated Jimmy, not at all daunted by the incredulity in Herb's tone, "I've been working like a horse all this season. A little more and I'll be only skin and bone." As Jimmy was by all odds the fattest boy in school, this assertion was greeted by a roar of laughter. "Now I know why you look like a string bean," chuckled Joe.
