“Some fellows could, maybe,” said Garding. “But if you want it straight, Bob, you’re not the fellow, in this case. He’s out of your class as a pitcher.”
Randall’s dark eyes flashed, but he controlled himself.
“I don’t acknowledge that. Who’ll go into the box for Fardale when Chip isn’t around? Tell me that.”
“You will, because you’re the next best pitcher,” retorted Hunt. “You don’t need to get sore, Randall. I’m not decrying your ability when I say that you’re not the equal of Merriwell, because you’re a blamed good pitcher.”
This only added fuel to the flame, however.
“Well, that remains to be seen,” declared Randall hotly. “Chip gets away with it because he has luck, that’s all. A whole lot depends on this game with Franklin, Monday, and the fellow that pitches and wins the game for Fardale will be the next captain of the regulars!”
“And that’ll be Chip Merriwell, for he’ll surely pitch,” said Chester.
“He won’t!” cried Randall, losing his temper. “I’m slated for that game, and I’m going to show you fellows what a real pitcher can do when he gets started. The trouble with a lot of you plebes is that you truckle to Merry because his father and uncle are old-time diamond stars!”
Lee Chester showed his wrath at this charge.
“I guess that lets you out,” he exclaimed angrily. “You’re so blamed jealous that your brains are twisted, Bob Randall! Nobody gets truckled to around this school, unless he’s got the goods, and you’re a long ways from having them.”