Читать книгу Frank Merriwell, Jr., in Arizona; or, Clearing a Rival's Record онлайн

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“I hope you can, Bleek,” laughed Merriwell. “We haven’t touched a paddle since we were up in the Wyoming country.”

“And that seems like a year ago,” sighed Clancy. “Say, I’m just honing for a paddle! Are you going to take Pink or Little Reddy, Chip?”

“We’ll settle that later,” said Frank.

“Go on!” cried Ballard, with mock indignation. “I can paddle circles all around Clancy.”

“That’s a joke,” said Clancy. “You’re too lazy to paddle circles around anybody.”

“I’m not too lazy to knock a chip off your shoulder, you red-headed chump!”

“Yah!” taunted Clancy, hunting around for a chip. “Chips are scarce,” he added finally, picking a pebble out of the sand. “How’ll this do?”

The pebble went flying from Clancy’s shoulder, and the two chums laughed and came together. While they were kicking and rolling among the blankets, a voice from outside announced “grub pile.”

“If you fellows would rather fight than eat,” said Merriwell, “stay right here and keep it up. Come on, Bleek, I’m hungry enough to eat a pair of boots.”