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And in a few minutes, strange to say, the Toyman wasn’t doing so well–though, maybe–between you and me–he was just giving the boys a chance.

Anyway, before long, the Toyman’s pile was growing less and less, while Marmaduke had nine gray marbles–we should say “migs”–one “chiney,” two brown “croakers,” one blue “croaker,” and one “glassey,” and his shooter, the “pure,” of course. And Jehosophat had ten “migs,” two “chimneys,” one “glassey,” two brown “croakers,” and one blue one, and his shooter. But poor little Hepzebiah had only three, counting all kinds. She began to cry, and rubbed her eyes with her two fists. But when, after a little, she stopped and looked down, why she had more marbles than any of the players.

I’ll tell you a secret, if you won’t tell it to a soul–for that wouldn’t be fair to Marmaduke and Jehosophat, who were trying their best not to let their right hands know what their left ones were doing.

Well then, if you won’t tell,–when Hepzebiah put her two fists to her eyes, quick as a wink the Toyman placed three of his marbles in her pile, and when Marmaduke saw him do that, why he put in four, and Jehosophat, not to be outdone, slipped in five.

“Better than slipping duck’s eggs under the old hen, isn’t it?” whispered Jehosophat to his brother, who agreed with a nod.

And that is the way the little girl came to win the game.

And so all through marble time they played many games, some of them very close, too, and a few even ties.

However, on one occasion the game didn’t turn out so well. That was the time when Fatty Hamm strolled into the yard.

“Hello!” he said, and something chinked in his pockets. It sounded like marbles.

“Hello!” called the boys, not very cordially, for they were always a little suspicious when Fatty happened around.

“Playin’ marbles?” he asked.

“Yes,” said the two brothers.

“I can beat you,” he declared.

“You can’t, either,” Marmaduke started to yell, but Jehosophat, who was having one of his good days, said,–

“Let’s treat him politely. He’s mean, but he’s company.”

“Play ‘for fair’?” Fatty next asked.

“Course,” replied Jehosophat, “what did you think?”

This friendly state of affairs didn’t last very long.

“You’re cheating,” called Jehosophat a little later.

“I’m not, neither,” Fatty shouted very angrily and ungrammatically.

“You are, too,” insisted Jehosophat. “The Toyman says you mustn’t get over the marbles that way or put your foot in the ring. You’ve got to ‘knuckles down.’ Beside you call’ slippseys’ every time you make a bad shot.”

When that strange game was over Fatty had forty-two marbles and they had only nine apiece. Altogether it was very unsatisfactory.

Then something very surprising happened.

Fatty counted the forty-two very carefully, then put them in his bag.

“Here,” said Jehosophat, “what are you doing?”

“I won ’em, they’re mine,” and still Fatty kept putting them in his bag. Marmaduke could hear them dropping in. “Chink, chink,” they went, but their “chink, chink” didn’t sound so pretty or so much like music as when they were dropping in his own bag.

“That’s not the way the Toyman plays,” Jehosophat insisted, “when we’re through we divide ’em up again so’s to be even.”

“Your ole Toyman doesn’t know everything,” Fatty said with a sneer.

And, angry at this, both the brothers shouted,–

“He does, too–he knows most everything there is to know.”

But Fatty decided things once and for all.

“Anyway,” he declared, “this game’s not ‘in fun.’ You said you’d play ‘for fair’ and that means ‘for keeps.'”

Jehosophat was silent. He hadn’t understood what ‘for fair’ had meant at all. Still, he had agreed to play that way, and so, though he wanted to punch Fatty’s head for him, he supposed he’d have to take his losses like a gentleman.

But now Fatty was taking something out of his pocket, something made of wood and shaped like a bridge or a saw with teeth in it. He placed it on the ground.

“Your turn, Joshy,” he said.