“You ought not to complain, Dan,” said Walter. “Fifteen strike-outs shouldn’t make you blush.”
“I’m not blushing.”
“Ye didn’t do s’ bad after all,” roared Silas, at that moment joining the boys and slapping Walter on the back as he spoke. “I thought long in th’ first o’ th’ game ye wasn’t worth shucks, but th’ way ye took that liner an’ then giv’ it a heave t’ second was pretty slick. What d’ye think o’ the Rodman nine now?” he added triumphantly.
“I think the ‘nine’ consisted mostly of Dan and his pitching.”
“Dan done noble,” admitted Silas, “but th’ trouble was he didn’t give none o’ th’ other fellows a show. He struck out so many o’ th’ Benson chaps that ’bout all th’ was left for our boys was t’ stan’ still an’ watch th’ Bensons walk up t’ th’ home plate, sass th’ umpire, give their club a fling, an’ march back an’ sit down.”
“Well, it came out all right, Silas,” laughed Walter.
“Ye’re right it did. I told ye ’twould, didn’t I? Neow what d’ye think ’bout what I said?”
“What did you say?”
“That Dan ought t’ get th’ New Yorks t’ come up here. I rather guess Dan could give their best knockers somethin’ t’ think ’bout.”
Dan laughed lightly, and Walter said: “Silas, I’m afraid you’re a little bit prejudiced in favor of the Rodman nine.”