“Where’s the wonderful Mexican backstop, Chip?” queried Clancy.
“Couldn’t get hold of him to-day,” Frank answered, “but he’ll be along to-morrow. What about Spink, Benaway, and Shaw, Clan?”
Clancy reported as to the three players Merry had mentioned.
“That’s tough about Shaw,” Merry observed, “but, on the whole, we’re making out a good deal better than I expected. I can depend on you fellows, can I?” The question was aimed particularly at Blunt, Handy, and Reckless.
“I reckon you can, Chip,” drawled Blunt, a gleam of temper playing in his sloe-black eyes. “How have you fixed the make-up of the team?”
“You’re down for second, Barzy, and if they hit me too hard you’ll probably have to move up to the pitcher’s box.”
“That’s a joke,” and the grin that half formed itself about the cowboy’s lip’s led Merry to think he was forgetting Lenning. “You’re the best amateur twirler in these parts, and if you can’t handle the Gold Hillers there’ll be no use calling on me. I’m satisfied to hold down the second bag. You and this greaser from the mine will be the battery for Ophir, eh?”
“Probably. Clancy’s at first, Handy’s at third, and Brad goes to short. Ballard, Spink, and Lenning will be in the outfield.”
Here Handy proceeded to take part in the conversation. “Lenning?” he echoed.
Merry faced around and gave Handy a square look.