“Say, why don’t you give Merriwell an opportunity to pitch for batting practice? Your batting practice is rather tame in my estimation. Can’t get a pitcher to go out there and pitch the way he would in a game, you know. They simply go out and throw the ball straight over. This doesn’t do much good for the batter.”
“I didn’t come out to take any part in the practice, Billings,” said Dick hastily.
Discovering Merriwell, Pumper Welch came slouching up, a sarcastic smile on his face. Welch had never liked Dick, and he now seized the opportunity to be nasty.
“Hello, Merriwell,” he said. “I suppose you’ve come out to show us how to pitch?”
There was something absolutely insulting in the way these words were spoken.
“How do you do, Welch,” bowed the freshman, his eyes snapping a bit. “I didn’t come out to show you how to pitch. I presume you know it all.”
“I won’t come to you to learn what I don’t know,” was the instant retort.
Dudley Towne came forward. Like Welch, Towne had no love for Dick. He had not forgotten how, in the fall games, the freshman had outpitched him.
“Why aren’t you practicing with your team this afternoon, Merriwell?” he inquired. “I presume you’re such an expert that you really don’t need to practice much of any?”
Frank Emery came trotting forward.