“Why, about the team. It didn’t take Gardiner long to fill out places.”
As Morrison put his glass down on the table, his hand trembled a little.
“What do you mean?” he asked slowly.
Burgess gave a short laugh.
“He’s got Merriwell to pitch, and that fellow Buckhart to catch.”
“What?” exploded Morrison.
His face had paled a little and he looked as if he could not believe his senses.
“Yes, that’s straight goods,” Burgess assured. “He’s even filled Hewett’s place with Tucker, another of that crowd, who, I understand, has played short on the varsity nine. Not bad for a pick-up, is it?”
For a moment the former pitcher of the Forest Hills seemed unable to utter a word. His face purpled and his eyes flashed with rage. The veins on his forehead stood out like cords.
Suddenly he burst out in such a frenzied volley of cursing that his two companions looked at him in astonishment.