Tom's bosom friend sat next him, suffering just
as Tom had been, and now he was deeply and grate-
fully interested in this entertainment in an instant.
This bosom friend was Joe Harper. The two boys
were sworn friends all the week, and embattled
enemies on Saturdays. Joe took a pin out of his
lapel and began to assist in exercising the prisoner.
The sport grew in interest momently. Soon Tom
said that they were interfering with each other, and
neither getting the fullest benefit of the tick. So he
put Joe's slate on the desk and drew a line down the
middle of it from top to bottom.

"Now," said he, "as long as he is on your side
you can stir him up and I'll let him alone; but if
you let him get away and get on my side, you're to
leave him alone as long as I can keep him from
crossing over."

"All right, go ahead; start him up."

The tick escaped from Tom, presently, and crossed
the equator. Joe harassed him awhile, and then he
got away and crossed back again. This change of
base occurred often. While one boy was worrying
the tick with absorbing interest, the other would
look on with interest as strong, the two heads bowed
together over the slate, and the two souls dead to all
things else. At last luck seemed to settle and abide
with Joe. The tick tried this, that, and the other
course, and got as excited and as anxious as the boys
themselves, but time and again just as he would
have victory in his very grasp, so to speak, and Tom's
fingers would be twitching to begin, Joe's pin would
deftly head him off, and keep possession. At last

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