"Nice game," he said, "I'll come tomorrow."

But the boys didn't second that or give him any warm invitation like
saying, "yes, and stay a week." They spoke never a word--just looked
and listened--looked at the few marbles left in their own hands, and
listened to the "chink, chink, chink" of Fatty's pockets as he walked
down the drive.

They were very solemn around the table that night, and though Mother
knew there must be something the matter, she didn't ask any questions
yet. However, Marmaduke kept reaching down into his pockets so often,
to feel the lonely little marbles he had left,--the one agate, and the
croaker, and the little gray mig, and the clink of them sounded so
weak and thin and lonesome that Father said,--

"Well, how did the game go today?"

"F-f-f-fine," said Marmaduke, but his lip quivered.

Then they knew there surely must be something the matter, and
Marmaduke couldn't help saying,--

"That ole Fatty Hamm said he was playing 'for keeps,' and he took away
almost all our marbles."

"Humph!" exclaimed Father, and Mother looked at him with an odd look.

"I'm sorry it happened," she said, "but I'm glad, too."

Jehosophat exclaimed: