"Hi! hi! boys, what does this mean?" came in a high-pitched voice.
"What are you hammering on the house for, when I am just in the
midst of a deep problem concerning the rotation of crops on a
hillside with northern exposure?"
"Excuse me, Uncle Randolph, I didn't think to disturb you,"
answered Tom meekly. "I'll put the ball away."
"You never stop to think, Thomas. Give me that ball."
"Oh, let me keep it, Uncle Randolph! I won't throw it against the
house again, honor bright."
"You'll forget that promise in ten minutes, Thomas; I know you
well. Throw the ball up," and Mr. Randolph Rover held out hands.
"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.
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