"Pretty near time she was settling down," he
thought.
Mr. Frye jumped over two, and leaned back in his chair with a satisfied
smile. The hops of his own men put him into the best of humor. It was
not that he wanted to win; he only wanted to do all the jumping. "Let
me do the taking," he would have said, "and you can do the winning."
When Mr. Crabbe hopped over three in a row, Mr. Frye became gloomy. He
felt that Mr. Crabbe was getting all the pleasure. "You're too spry
for me," he said. "You're like a flea. Well. . . ."
"It's your turn, Mr. F.," said Mr. Crabbe.
Mr. Frye looked at the board with distaste. There were no more jumps
for him to make. He pushed a round black checker forward.
"There you are," he said.
"Here I go," declared Mr. Crabbe. And he began hopping again.
Mr. Frye shook his head. "I don't know as I'm feeling very good
to-day," he told Farmer Barly.
As he was speaking, Anna Barly entered the store, on her way home.
Thomas Frye, who was behind the counter, came forward to meet her.
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