“Look at that second baseman drop them!” growled Jim Spaulding.
“And talkin’ about bushers, watch that feller who tries to play first,” added McCarthy.
“Yah!” jeered Chub Newton, prodding Bud Bradley in the ribs and dancing away. “You fel-l-lers are jeal-l-lous, that’s what! You’re sore because you aren’t inside of those uniforms.”
“And who wouldn’t be sore?” said Bradley hotly. “When that fellow Carson blacklists his own townfolks, and drags in city players, it’s enough to make any one hot!”
“’Tisn’t as if we wasn’t good ball players, either,” added McCarthy. “Bully knows he couldn’t show off around us, that’s all. He wants to be captain, and he’d stand a fine chance of us electin’ him!”
Merriwell moved off a few steps, watching the Clippers. The foregoing remarks had indicated clearly the position of things in the town. The group of disgruntled natives comprised several of those who, like Billy Mac, had been ousted from the Clippers by the imported amateurs.
It was not hard to understand the reason for this, and Merry found himself in sympathy with the feeling. Knowing what he did of Bully Carson, he thought it highly probable that the captain of the Clippers doubted his ability to hold that position among the young fellows who had grown up with him.
It was much easier to impress a crowd of chaps who worked for his father. They would be very likely to toady to him, and allow him to lead them. This was plainly the sort of thing that Carson loved.
“Just the same,” remarked Chip to Billy, who stood beside him, “I don’t think your friends give him full credit, old man. He looks like a good pitcher, and those other chaps know their business.”
“You’d show him up in two jerks, Chip,” declared Billy stoutly. Merry smiled, but did not reply.