"Which, the work or the play?"

"Both."

"Well," said Tommy after a pause, "do you ever have any trouble with the
boys you play with?"

"No," said the boy, "I don't think I do."

"Well, you must be a queer sort of a boy! Now, there's Bob Sykes, -
perhaps you've noticed that my eye is hurt, and my face scratched some.
Well, we had a little difficulty just a few moments ago; he insulted me,
and I won't take an insult from any one. And I told him to shut up his
mouth, and he sassed me back, and called me names, and said I was stuck
up and thought I was better than the other boys, and he'd show me that I
wasn't. Of course, I wouldn't stand that, so I've had a fight, - and it
isn't the first one either."

"Yes," said the boy, "I know that. I feel very sorry for Bob. He hasn't
any mother to go to, you know. He had to wash the blood and dirt off his
face as best he could at the town pump; and then wait around the streets
until his father came from work. It is pretty hard for a boy to have no
place to lay his head."

"Why, do you know Bob Sykes?" asked Tommy.

"Yes," answered the boy, "I've been with him a good deal."

"Queer now," mused Tommy. "I don't remember of ever seeing you around.