“We couldn’t do it,” and Bud Bradley shook his head. “We’ve no money for grounds or uniforms or things, and most of us have to keep close to work.”
“I’d like to show that second baseman up, just the same,” said Spaulding. “But I guess there’s no chance, Chub.”
“Why not?” spoke up Billy Mac hastily. “We’ve got uniforms of one kind and another already, haven’t we? We don’t need grounds—we can practice up and beat the Carsonville Clippers on their own grounds, fellows!”
“Yah! That’s the stuff!” shrieked Chub, dancing excitedly. “Wouldn’t that be a scream, though! A bunch of us l-l-lambastin’ the town cl-l-lub! Wow!”
It was plain that Chub’s proposition appealed strongly to most of those present, but the difficulties seemed insurmountable.
“It’d take down Colonel Carson a heap,” muttered McCarthy. “I’d do a good deal to pay him back fer the way he gobbled our pasture lots, when his cussed mortgage come due!”
“Look here,” exclaimed Billy Mac, with eagerness. “It isn’t near so bad as it looks, honest! We got pretty near a full infield right here in this crowd. We could get to work and practice off days till the ball season gets going, then light into that bunch right.”
“Sounds good,” admitted Spaulding. “But it won’t work, Billy. Those fellows are sluggers from Sluggville. We’d have to have a crackajack pitcher to hold ’em down. And you know as well as I do that we’d have a hard job hitting Carson.”
“That’s all right,” retorted Billy Mac. “Mebbe we could get Chip Merriwell, here, to come down from Fardale and pitch!”
At this proposal, every eye went to Merry. McQuade’s eager seconding sent Chub into spasms of delight.