“I am not so sure of that,” said Frank, quietly. “I got on in my freshman year, if you will remember.”
“I know, but circumstances brought that about. Yale was in a hole for pitchers. You did some clever twirling on the freshman nine, and you were tried as a desperate expedient. That is the secret of your getting on the ’varsity nine your first year in college.”
“Well, Hodge did some clever backstop work last Saturday, when the scrub played the regular nine. He played on the scrub, and he made a better record than either Noon or Stone, who took turns on the regulars.”
“Oh, that was a chance, and it didn’t show his mettle, for there was nothing at stake. He had better opportunities than the other fellows, that’s all.”
“Come off!” cried Frank, dropping into slang. “He did better throwing, and he would have caught every man who tried to steal second if the pitcher had not been a little slow in his delivery. As it was, he caught four men, while Noon and Stone caught only one each. He did not have a passed ball, for all that the pitcher was wild as a hawk, and he got three fine hits.”
“Two of which were off you, Merry. That part of it didn’t fool anybody. Ha! ha! ha!”
Frank flushed again.
“By that I presume that you mean to insinuate that I gave him easy ones, so he might hit it out. Look here, Gris, I have told you that I do not lie. Now I am going to tell you that I did my level best to fool Hodge, for he had told me that he would bat my eye out. I thought I knew his weak points. I gave him a high inshoot, and he got a pretty single off it; I gave him one round his ankles, and he lifted it out for three bags. The fellow who says I favored him in the least says something that is not true.”
“Oh, well,” said Danny, shortly, “I am not here to talk baseball. Anyway, I don’t think Hodge stands a ghost of a show to catch on. Noon is the man who will get there.”
“Nit!” muttered Frank, as Danny walked away, smoking.