“Yes,” responded Dan quietly.
“Why don’t you get excited, Dan?” Walter demanded as he walked beside his friend toward the milk-room, which was an addition to the old farmhouse, built of stone and provided with ice which Dan and his brother cut every winter from the mill-pond not far away.
“Perhaps I am, more than you think,” replied Dan.
“That’s all right. You’re as cool when you face the prospect of rooming with me as you are when you face the heaviest hitter on the other nine and have three men on bases.”
“Am I?” Dan spoke quietly, and Walter, in his own feeling of elation, perhaps failed to look beneath the surface.
“Yes. You wouldn’t be, if you knew what you are going into.”
“I guess you’re right,” said Dan soberly.
“Of course I am!” exclaimed Walter, enthusiastic once more in the company of his friend. “You’ll like the fellows immensely. Right across the hall from us will be Owen Pease and Sin Bradley’s room. You’ll like both of them. Owen plays in the field on the nine. He’s about ten feet long and two inches wide.”
“I should think he’d go with Barnum. I never saw a man built on that plan.”
“Oh, well, I’ve put it a little strong,” laughed Walter. “But he’s length without breadth or thickness. Honestly, Dan, he’s the thinnest person you ever saw.”