“Various members of our brilliant team—Buster, Tommy Hughes, and Joe Kenny. I believe even Sid tried an inning. I dare say it was a lot of fun for Lynton.”
“What was the score?”
Tom gazed at the ceiling. “Eighteen to three,” he said softly.
Sam whistled. Then, “What about to-morrow?” he asked anxiously. “Any more invoices in sight?”
Tom laughed. “Not a one. To-morrow, Sam, we’ll everlastingly whale those chaps! Revenge is the order of the day. By the way, they tried to get us to agree to play the same line-up, but we told them we couldn’t promise that.” Tom grinned. “Then I wrote to you. How are you hitting, Mr. Councillor?”
“Not much. Mr. York says I take too long a swing. I guess I do, too.”
“Oh, never mind that if you hit the ball; results are what count.”
“Mr. York says if I take a shorter swing I’ll hit oftener.”
“Look here, Sam, I dare say this Mr. York of yours is a fine chap and all that, but if you don’t stop talking about him I’ll throw a fit! I haven’t heard much else since yesterday but ‘Mr. York’!”