"I suppose we've got to get used to it," said Paul. "All the same, I wish the whole club had uniforms."
The play that afternoon was of the bright, snappy kind. There was some good pitching and field work, and half a dozen creditable hits were made.
"You are doing finely," said a gentleman named Monroe Corsen, who was a graduate of one of our large colleges. "Keep it up and you will certainly win some games this summer."
"We are going to do our best," answered Joe.
Harry had been told to go to the store before returning home for supper and so, with one or two others, left the ball field before the rest. He carried with him one of the bats which none of the players cared particularly to use, as it was unusually heavy.
"We'll have to trade this for a lighter bat," he said, to one of his companions.
"Yes, if we get the chance. Hardly anybody wants to use such a heavy bat. It was a mistake to get it in the first place," was the answer.
Harry hurried down one street and then around the corner into another, which was lined with a number of small shops. Just as he turned the corner he noticed a commotion a block away and heard a sudden cry.
"Look out for the bull! Jerry Flagg's bull has broken loose!"
"Hullo, a wild bull!" he cried. "He'll make trouble in this street, if he once gets a-going!"