“Well?”
“Virginia can’t win with Merriwell pitching for Yale.”
“Why not?”
“Because it is impossible. The fellow is one of the most remarkable twirlers who ever threw a ball. He has a curve that no batter can hit, and I understand that he is in perfect form this season. Virginia has not a ghost of a show with Merriwell pitching.”
Ditson puffed fiercely at the cigarette, blowing some of the smoke into Cunningham’s face. The giant coughed and fanned it aside with his huge paw.
“What in thunder any human being wants to smoke anything like that for is mo’ than I can understand!” he blurted, in disgust. “The smell of it would make a pig sick!”
“Excuse me,” said Ditson, who did not wish to offend the fellow.
“Why don’t yo’ be a man an’ smoke a pipe?” demanded the other. “Does this Merriwell smoke them?”
“I believe he does not smoke at all. He’s one of the goody-good kind that never does anything bad. Oh, he’s a most sickening and disgusting fellow.”
“Kind of a mammy’s boy, eh?”