“Don’t know about that yet,” was the answer. “For the next man put down Mexican Joe for backstop.”
Again Clancy and Ballard displayed astonishment, but this time it was of another sort.
“Who the mischief is Mexican Joe?” Ballard inquired. “Never heard of him before.”
“He works in the blacksmith shop at the mine,” said Merriwell, “and Mr. Bradlaugh was telling me about him only the other day. He used to catch for a Mexican team, and they say he has the prettiest throw to second of any amateur in Arizona. We’ve got to have Mexican Joe.”
“I wonder,” grinned Clancy, “if he’ll do his signalling in the greaser lingo? If he does, Chip, you’re liable to get balled up.”
“I’ll chance that part of it, old man,” said Merry. “Put down Owen Clancy for the first bag and Billy Ballard for center field.”
“Got that,” reported Clancy, writing rapidly, “and also Chip Merriwell for pitcher.”
“Bradlaugh, junior, for short.”
“Check.”
“Barzy Blunt, second base.”