"Gee, Bill, it's dirt mean, but I'll tell you what I will do, I'll
come back and play marbles with yer if the fish don't bite good."

"I wish the old hens was in Tophet. Say, Ned, ain't got a book yer
could let a feller have, have yer?"

"Sure, one of the latest. I just finished it and it's a corker. I
promised Joe Hykes he could take it next but you will have time to
read it this afternoon and Joe is off playin' ball."

Willie grabbed the book eagerly. It had an alluring cover, the
design was worked out in bright red, brilliant yellow and poisonous
green and it represented a man in the act of killing a young and
presumably beautiful woman. It was of the dime novel variety
entitled "Conclusive Evidence," just the thing to appeal to the
imaginative Willie. Soon all thought of hens slipped from Willie's
mind, his heart beat rapidly, he breathlessly followed the hero's
thrilling adventures, he almost shed tears when the girl who had
helped the hero outwit the villain was found mysteriously murdered.
With keen interest he watched the authorities carry the hero to jail.
He was first in the audience at the trial, he drew a long breath
when only circumstantial evidence could be brought out, his heart
sank when the villain rushed into the court room and cried out that
he had conclusive evidence, his hopes went down, a sharp pain
assailed him in the shoulder, he thought the villain had grabbed him,
he jumped up and--in place of the court room, prisoner, judge, jury,
witnesses, interested onlookers, etc., he saw his mother standing
beside him and--horrors--a dozen or more hens blissfully digging in
the loosened earth of the garden.