“Of course you had! That would——”
“Stop, Bart!” commanded Frank promptly. “You know, as well as I, that Joe came amazingly near getting it.”
“Well, why didn’t he?”
“Because it was beyond human accomplishment. You have no right to speak to him that way. Better take it back.”
Bart muttered something and began overhauling the bats to get hold of his own stick, which he religiously cared for at all times. The sting of defeat was hard to bear.
Merry was not satisfied.
“You know who lost the game, Bart,” he said. “You know I am alone to blame. Don’t try to put the blame onto any one else. Kick at me for my rotten pitching, if you like.”
Hodge said nothing now. He had found his bat, but he glared at the stick as if that were somehow to blame for the misfortune that had befallen them.
Dunnerwurst seemed on the verge of tears, while Rattleton looked sad enough.
The loss of this particular game had depressed the whole team more than anything that had happened on the entire trip.