"That would be easy. I know father would let us use the ten-acre lot back of the milk station. We could build a little grand stand, and have things in real city style."
"If we went that far we'd want uniforms, too."
"We'd have to save up for the uniforms—or else take up a collection. I guess my father would give something. He used to love baseball when he was a boy—and he likes to look at a game still."
"So does my father like it. He used to be a pitcher on his town club. It would just be grand if we could get up a real good club, and fix up those grounds with a stand, and get uniforms and gloves, and masks and those things, and have a clubroom somewhere——"
"Phew! but you've got it all cut and dried, Joe."
"We can do it—I know we can," answered Joe Westmore, confidently. "Some of the boys laughed at us last winter, when we started to organize our gun club. But the plan went through, and——"
"We had the best outing in the woods any set of fellows ever had," finished Fred Rush. "Do you know, I shall never forget our camp on Pine Island," he went on. "What a lot of sport we did have! If this baseball club would afford as much sport——"
"It will."
"Then I'm in favor of it this minute. But come on, let us have our game first and talk club afterwards," added Fred, and ran off in one direction while Joe made off in another.
Fred Rush was the son of a hardware dealer, whose establishment was located in the thriving town of Lakeport, situated at the foot of Pine Lake. Fred was a stout youth, with a round, ruddy face. He was generally bubbling over with energy and good humor and numbered a host of friends among those who knew him.