sooner had Sandy passed through the door than a complete metamorphosis took place. With a long-drawn Indian war-whoop, ending in a "dare yer to foller," he executed a series of cartwheels and handsprings, winding up by standing on his head, and then turning a number of somersaults.
It was a transformation indeed, from the slow-going pupil of the school-room to the quick active boy outside, all life and spirits. In truth, there was no one in Pipetown to approach Sandy as an all-around athlete.
Gilbert had spent much of his life in the sick-room, and like most frail boys had always been fascinated with sports that demand skill and muscle. In Sandy he saw the embodiment of the youthful hero. Sandy was coming on with a hop-skip-and-jump, and, turning at least ten successive handsprings around his new-found admirer, he said:
"Say, little feller, don't yer know how to do these 'ere things?" and he turned another handspring.
"I never was allowed to try," said Gilbert, and then, apologetically: "You see, I have been sick nearly all the time since I was five."
"Gosh, that's tough!" said the older gravely.
