“Say, fellows,” he whispered, “I’ve a good mind to call Bill over and tell him about this business of Merriwell’s pitching to-morrow.”
Burgess frowned a bit.
“What good will that do?” he asked.
Morrison hesitated for an instant.
“Well,” he said significantly, “you know Bill’s reputation. If he should pick a fight with Merriwell, or do something equally effective, Gardiner would be minus a pitcher.”
The stout fellow leaned back in his chair and surveyed his friend curiously.
“Sometimes you’re one too many for me, Morrie,” he said slowly. “Where do you get these ideas, anyhow? Would you really think of doing a thing like that?”
Morrison looked a little annoyed.
“You’re too finicky altogether, George,” he returned. “I shouldn’t be doing anything out of the way by simply telling McDonough that this Merriwell is going to take my place in the box to-morrow.”
“Oh, you know well enough what I mean,” Burgess retorted. “What’s your object in telling him? Because you hope Bill will do something dirty to prevent Merriwell’s playing.”