“Oh, I’m not a pitcher, and there is no chance that I’ll rob him of any glory. Indeed, if I pan out well, I may add to his glory by helping him in games, so he’ll let my head alone. Yours comes off before the Easter trip, see if it doesn’t. You may as well quit now.”
“I’ll never quit till I have to!” returned Dade. “Get out and let me alone! I’m sick of your croaking!”
“Go to blazes!” hissed Defarge. “I may find a way to make you sicker!”
A number of men were hard at work fielding ground balls and throwing to first. Mason was one of this squad, and he was not making a great success of it. The coaches yelled at him, but that did not seem to do him much good.
Then Frank Merriwell, being a privileged character, walked down and talked to Mason in a quiet, soothing tone.
“You’re rattled, Mason,” said Merry. “Just get rid of the idea that everybody is looking at you. They are not. The other men are busy taking care of their own affairs.”
“I reckon you made a mistake when you asked me to get out here, sah,” said the Southerner, the perspiration standing out on his drawn and worried face. “I judge I ain’t put up right to be howled at like this by a lot of loud-mouthed duffers.”
“Don’t be touchy, man. You can’t succeed if you are. We’ve all had coaches yell at us in the same way.”
“But it’s mighty galling to a man like me.”
“Haven’t a doubt of it, but you must set your jaws and lay right down to the work. Get your body in front of those bounding balls every time, even if they take your head off. Keep your heels together, and they may stop balls when your hands fail. Jump into the track of anything that comes your way. If it’s a slow one, go ahead to meet it, for every second counts in trying to cut off a runner who is sprinting to first.”