"All right, then; here you go," answered Tom, somewhat put out to
thus lose a ball which had cost him his week's spending, money;
and he sent the sphere flying upward at a smart speed. Mr. Rover
made a clutch for it, but the ball slipped through his hands and
landed plump on his nose.

"Oh!" he cried, and disappeared from sight, but reappeared a
moment later, to shake his fist at Tom.

"You young rascal! You did that on purpose!" he spluttered, and
brought forth his handkerchief, for his nose had begun to bleed.
"Was anyone ever tormented so by three boys?"

"Now you are in for it again, Tom," whispered Sam.

"I didn't mean to hit you, Uncle Randolph. Why didn't you catch
it on the fly?"

"On the fly?" repeated the uncle. "Do you suppose I am accustomed
to catching cannon balls?"

"Didn't you ever play baseball?"

"Never. I spent my time in some useful study." The elderly
gentleman continued to keep his handkerchief to his nose, and
adjusted his glasses.

"Thank fortune, you are all going to go to boarding school next
week, and we will once more have a little peace and quietness
around Valley Brook!"