According to Jones, it was a case of overconfidence by Umpty-ten, followed by the rattles when Highbridge fell on Kates and batted him out of the box.
“Who filled Sam’s place?” inquired Dick.
“Oh, Spratt helped the suffering along,” groaned Blessed. “He’s been wanting to show what he could do on the slab, and I gave him a chance. Every one of those kids got a bingle off him. So help me, Joshua, it was an unspeakable relief when the game finally dragged to an end!”
Buckhart stuck his head in at the door.
“When Highland can do us up,” he said, “we’ll make a fine showing against those Manhattan College sons of Erin. If those husky Irishmen don’t eat us up Wednesday, it will certain be a miracle. You hear me murmur!”
“Dick will pitch that game,” said Jones.
“And he’ll have a fine team behind him,” said the Texan. “Unless some one pours oil on the troubled waters, I don’t believe we’ll get out more than half the team next week.”
“Well, you were to blame for a good deal of the trouble,” declared Jones. “You told Kates he was bum, you reviled Spratt, you derided Bigelow, and Claxton was about the only man you didn’t insult. I suppose you realized you’d have a fight on your hands if you said much to him.”
“It was enough to make anybody sit up on his haunches and howl like a wolf,” said the Texan, as he stepped through the doorway. “I won’t get over it in a month.”
“Oh, forget it! forget it!” piped a voice, as Tommy Tucker pushed open the door and peered in. “Still chewing it over? What’s the use? Say, Dick, have you heard the story about the powdered sugar? Haven’t heard it? Well, it’s fine.”