“A baseball club,” at last suggested a small Jap with a bashful smile.
“That is a splendid idea,” cried Eveley brightly. “Baseball is a good American sport, a clean, lively game. Now what shall we call our baseball club?”
Again deep thought, but in a moment from an earnest Jewish boy came the suggestion, “The Irish-American Baseball League.”
Eveley searched his face carefully, looking for traces of irony. But the pinched thin features were earnest, the eyes alight with pleased gratification at his readiness of retort.
A hum of approval indicated that the Irish-American League had met with favor. But Eveley wavered.
“Why?” she asked in puzzled tone. “There is not an Irish boy here. You are Italians, and Spanish, and Jewish, and Russian, so why call it Irish-American?”
“My stepfather is an Irishman, his name is Mike O’Malley,” said a small Mexican. “So I’ll be the captain.”
“G’wan, ain’t it enough to get the club named for you?” came the angry retort. “What you know about baseball, anyhow?”
Eveley silenced them quickly. “Let’s just call it the American League,” she pleaded.
“The Irish-American League is well known, and gets its name in the paper,” was the ready argument in its favor.