“You can’t mean that he was afraid to pitch this game?”
Chet shrugged his shoulders.
“I don’t know what you call it. If he wasn’t afraid, why didn’t he pitch it? He’s ready enough to pitch a game he thinks he can win.”
“Now, that’s just what I said,” cried Zona. “I thought it strange he should put you in to pitch such a game, when he thinks himself the greatest pitcher in the school.”
“Well, you know he is a fine pitcher!” flashed Doris. “Every one knows that.”
“Oh, of course, of course!” laughed Chester. “But he’s got brains enough to know when he is outclassed. Those chaps are professionals. What makes me tired is the fact that every one seems to think Mr. Merriwell perfect in every respect. I don’t pretend to be perfect myself. I have one or two faults, and he has his. For one thing, he talks too much to fellows he is friendly with. I could tell you something that would interest you, Doris.”
“Me?”
“Yes, indeed!”
“Why, what could you tell me?”
“Oh, never mind,” said Chet tantalizingly. “You think he is all right. I won’t say anything about it.”