“Yes, you do—like poison,” responded Foley with a grin. “Tell you what I’ll do, Jack. I’ll bet you anything you like that I’ll play in more games—contests with outside teams, I mean—than you do this spring. Want to take that?”
“Ger-ladly, old sport! I’ll bet you”—Jack’s eyes twinkled about the cases and shelves—“I’ll bet you one of those nice leather bat-cases, Frank. I’ve always wanted a bat-case. How much are they, Tom?”
“A dollar and a quarter and two seventy-five.”
“I mean the all-leather ones.”
“Two seventy-five.”
“That’s the idea. How does that strike you, Frank? Feel like spending that much to make me happy?”
“Yes, but I don’t happen to want a bat-case, thanks. Think of something else.”
“Then I’ll buy you a couple of pairs of lavender gloves to wear to the parties.”
“Quit fooling and say something. What do I get if I win?”