“Have you heard,” the lad asked, “that we’re to have a ball game here next Saturday?”
“I have,” was the answer, “and I’m pleased almost to death, Merriwell. Colonel Hawtrey left this office not more than five minutes ago. He told me about it. You’ll have to do some tall hustling, my lad, if you dig up a nine that can hold the Gold Hillers. Of course, our nine has got to win. We can’t consider any other result. It would be too bad to have you wind up your stay in Ophir with a defeat on the ball field.”
“I believe we’ve picked a winning team,” said Merry. “Here’s the line-up, Mr. Bradlaugh,” and he handed Clancy’s list to the general manager.
Mr. Bradlaugh leaned back in his office chair and began examining the list. He had no more than dropped his eyes to the first name than he gave a start, and looked up.
“Lenning, Merriwell?”
“Yes,” nodded Frank. “He’s a good player, if all I hear is true, and we need him.”
“Er-hem!” coughed the general manager. “No doubt he’s a good player, and would be a decided acquisition, but is it a judicious selection?”
“I think so,” answered Frank calmly.
“There are liable to be objections,” suggested Mr. Bradlaugh, “and if you persist in keeping Lenning in the nine, in spite of them, there will be discontent among the players. You know too much about sports, Merriwell, for me to remind you what discontent means among a lot of players.”
“The point is here, Mr. Bradlaugh,” Frank observed, with considerable warmth: “Lenning is doing his best to be square, but nobody seems to have much use for him. He needs friends, and he hasn’t any. Here’s a chance for him to win back a few of the friends he has lost. I believe in giving him the chance.”