“I have had the same feeling,” retorted Ned, “only I spelled my ‘mummy’ with a ‘d.’”
“You’re lucky to be able to spell it any way,” declared Frank. “He wrote me this summer, and what do you think? He had the nerve to spell my middle name Hardwood.”
“I was thinking of Soc’s efforts in your behalf,” laughed Ned.
“Are all the fellows back?” he added turning to Walter. “Chesty and I just came in and we made a bee-line for your room. Seems like away back in the Dark Ages since we parted. What have you been doing all summer?”
“I’ve been up at Rodman most of the time, on my grandfather’s farm,” replied Walter.
“Buried alive?”
“No, sir; not buried alive. Dan and I fished and played ball—that’s how I made my find. Dan is the best pitcher for a fellow of his age I ever saw. Moulton has been training him all summer——”
“What Moulton?” interrupted Ned quickly.
“Moulton of Princeton,” said Walter, trying to speak unconcernedly. “He says Dan is the most promising young pitcher he has found.”
Plainly impressed by what Walter said, Ned looked at Dan with renewed interest. He noted the long arm, the wiry form, the evident power and endurance, and his enthusiasm at once was aroused. “I’m glad you’re here, Dan,” he said simply. “Of course there isn’t much baseball in the fall—everything goes to football then. But we have some interform games; they’re mostly to keep up the spirit of the thing and try out the new fellows. We’ll give you a chance to show your mettle——”