Half an hour later he rushed in on Melvin, who had just come in from a trip up the river in Varrell’s canoe.
“What luck, Phil?”
“Luck indeed! Nothing but luck! I helped in two double plays, caught two flies, made two hits and only one error. Lyford was cordial, and even Sands gave me a compliment.”
“That is a record. You remember what I said about my getting a start by luck; you’ve beaten me in luck, anyway.”
The boy’s face fell. “But you got on the team and I shan’t, that’s the difference. Sands thinks I’m too young, and it will make no difference whether I play well or not, he won’t take me on.”
“Has he told you so?”
“No, but I suspect it, and I’m pretty sure I’m right.”
“Nonsense,” said Melvin. “He’ll take you if you’re the best man, or I don’t know Sands. Only bear in mind that you’ve had a lucky day, and the first practice game isn’t enough to prove anything. You’ve won the first heat, but don’t get a swelled head over it, or you’ll win no more.”
At the same time Sands and Coach Lyford were lingering on the gymnasium steps, in the midst of a conversation on the very same subject.