“I won’t get over this in a month!” muttered Hodge bitterly. “It was a hard game to lose.”
“Lul-lul-let’s challenge them to another gug-game!” cried Gamp. “We can dud-dud-do ’em next time!”
“Fellows,” said Frank, “we lost the mascot of the nine, and that’s what ailed us to-day. We played a bad game, but it might have been different if Dick had been with us.”
“Dick was a mascot,” agreed Browning. “Why, that little wizard can pitch ball like a veteran.”
“And Old Joe Crowfoot,” said Frank; “he was not with us. If he had been on hand to powwow round the home plate before the game, he might have put something into the team that seemed lacking.”
“I don’t suppose we’ll ever see that old varmint again?” said Jack questioningly.
“I think we shall,” nodded Merry. “He’s recovering from the wound he received, and I do not believe he will leave Dick when he gets well.”
“Are you going to bother with that soiled old scarecrow?” asked Jack.
“For Dick’s sake, I shall.”