Colonel Carson faded.
“He plunged pretty heavily, I hear,” said Trayne, holding back the indignant Fardale men. “Let him go, boys. Merry’s right. Get in here with your ballots, you fellows, and quit delaying things!”
“Hold on a minute, please,” said Chip. “I only want to say that the fellow to be elected is Owen Clancy——”
“Pho! Shut up, you rube!”
“Yah! Listen to der peesness! Go vay und talk mit yourselluf, Frankie!”
“Clan didn’t knock the home run!”
Coach Trayne quieted down the yelling mob, and roared for ballots. When he had written out his, Merry turned to the silent and unhappy figure of Bob Randall and held out his hand.
“Bob,” he said, smiling, “I want to congratulate you on your game to-day! That Franklin chap, Peters, seems to have been a general surprise, and with a smashed-up infield behind you, I think you did remarkably well to keep them down!”
Randall hesitated, then accepted Frank’s hand. There was a quick glitter in his dark eyes as he searched Merry’s face.
“Do you mean it?” he faltered. “You—you’re not sarcastic?”