“That was a bone head play of mine,” said Wade when both he and Jeff reached their rooms.
“I can’t see why you reached for it,” confessed Jeff. “If you had passed it up you would have walked.”
“I know it, Jeff, but somehow I thought I could pole out a safe single over Dick Runyon’s head and perhaps get you home on it.”
“A laudable ambition, Old Scout, but I wish you’d played safe. Now if I had pulled that, why—”
“Aw, cut it, Jeff. Quit kidding. Say, that was some smash that you shot down to Gould. He handled it as if it was a hot potato and it looked as if it might have been real hot at that.”
“I guess it was, Wade. I was afraid I was a goner at first. It headed right for his mitt. I didn’t realize it had so much steam on it until I saw it bounce off his glove. Jiminy, I’ll bet he’s so mad he could eat nails and not notice it.”
“It’s great work, Jeff, old fellow. I’m mighty glad to see you get a chance at the job. I think Coach Rice has got his eye on you for it at that.”
“But Gould is pretty good,” confessed Jeff.
“Yes, he is. But I think you are just a shade better. And goodness knows your disposition is—”
“Yes, but disposition don’t count so much in baseball,” said Jeff.