Carson had noted the arrival of the two friends, for more than once he looked blackly at the group, and passed remarks to his companions that drew their eyes also. They grinned at his words as if they formed great strokes of humor.
Merry saw at once, however, that Carson knew his business. So did the rest of the Clippers. They had spread out over the green, and handled the bunts in fine shape, moving in perfect harmony and whipping over the ball with precision.
Their captain and star pitcher might have a bad case of “swelled head,” but he showed that when it came to pitching, he was right there. As a group of girls passed on the other side of the street, he proceeded to cut loose.
And Merry admitted to himself that Bully Carson was a pitcher. He had speed and good control, while his curves broke sharply.
“Aw, cut out the comedy, cap,” growled his catcher, Squint Fletcher. “This ain’t no stage performance!”
Carson scowled, but kept silent. Perhaps he had already discovered that his husky backstop had little desire to truckle to him.
“Say, I got an idea!” chirruped Chub Newton shrilly. His voice lifted across to the green, and it caused Bully Carson to throw a vicious glance in the direction of the group.
“Be careful of it,” grinned McCarthy. “You want to set on it an’ hold it gently by the ears, Chub. Don’t push it too hard.”
“You l-l-listen to me,” went on the little fellow eagerly. “We could get a better team right here in town than those Cl-l-lippers! I’d l-l-like to form another one, a cl-l-lub of our own, and l-l-lambaste the spots out o’ them!”
At this astounding proposal, the members of the group stared at each other. Carson, who must have heard the words, looked blacker than ever, but continued tossing the ball.