“Oh, some amateur organization, eh?”
“You might call it that; we wouldn’t call ourselves professionals.”
“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed Harrison. “Why, my boy, it would be a joke.”
“Well, I don’t know about that. I have an idea that I can get together nine college baseball players who will make it a fairly interesting game, if you dare accept my challenge.”
“Dare!” spluttered Harrison. “Why, young fellow, I’d jump at the opportunity, if there was anything in it. It wouldn’t be worth my time, however, to play a bunch of kids.”
“You won’t find them kids—not exactly. I presume you’ll admit that there are some college men who can play baseball.”
“In every way. But the finest college teams have no business with professionals; in proof of which, consider the result of the regular yearly Yale-New York game. The ‘Giants’ always have a snap with the college boys.”
Dick nodded.
“That’s the natural order of things,” he confessed. “The New York team is made up of the best professionals in the country, and those men play together year after year until they become a machine. Yale picks from her undergraduates, and the personnel of the team is constantly changing. This prevents the collegians from working out a team organization with the fine points of a big professional nine.
“Nevertheless, year after year New York spots certain promising youngsters on the college team and attempts to get a line on them. If those same youngsters could play together season after season under a crackajack coach, it wouldn’t be long before the Giants would have to hustle in order to take that spring exhibition game.”