“That’s so,” remarked Pee Wee, who was too fat and too slow to play himself, but was an ardent rooter for the home team. “I’ve never seen Bobby get rattled yet.”
“That’s because there isn’t a bit of yellow in him,” said Fred, throwing his arm affectionately about his chum’s shoulder.
“And I’ll bet that Hicksley has a yellow streak in him a yard wide,” snapped Sparrow.
“Oh he may not be that way when it comes to baseball,” remonstrated Bobby who always tried to be fair. “At any rate he ought to have a chance to show what he can do before we make up our minds about him. You fellows know that I don’t like him a bit more than you do, but that doesn’t say he may not be a good baseball player.”
Jinks was not on the nine, but Bronson, who was a good batter and a fair fielder, was expected to play center field. They were both delighted at the showing that their crony was making and were loud in their applause. Their praise was so extravagant in fact that it was clear that they did it to depreciate Bobby.
“You’re the best pitcher we ever had at Rockledge, Tom,” cried Bronson, casting a side glance at Bobby to make sure that he heard.
“You lay over them all,” crowed Jinks. “There’s no one else can hold a candle to you.”
“Here, cut that out, you fellows,” called Frank Durrock sharply. “Blake has proved what he can do and I don’t want any talk like that. He won both of the last games he pitched against Belden, and any one who can do better than he did will have to be going some.”
“You bet they will,” cried Fred loyally, and there was a round of hand clapping from the other boys, with most of whom Bobby was a prime favorite.
Frank’s hearty defense put Bobby on his mettle, and when his turn came to put the balls over, he did so with a snap and skill that delighted his friends.