“You’ll have to limber up that pitching arm of yours and get it in good shape, Bobby,” cried Fred jubilantly, clapping his friend on the shoulder.
“How do you know I’ll get a chance to pitch?” asked Bobby modestly. “The nine isn’t made up yet and won’t be till we’ve had a chance to practice. Some of the new fellows may be a good deal better than I am at pitching.”
“I don’t believe they will be,” returned Skeets. “Do you remember, Fred, that last game when Bobby pitched and we beat Belden by three to two?”
“You bet I do,” replied Fred. “And I remember that catch that Bobby made in the ninth inning when he rolled over and over and yet held on to the ball. If he had let it get away from him, Belden would have won sure.”
“I wish we could go right out on the field tomorrow!” exclaimed impatient Fred, who was very much worked up over the prospect of sport that the new league opened up.
“That would be rushing things for fair,” laughed Frank.
“It would hardly do to be playing ball in overcoats and mittens,” grinned Skeets.
“Let’s see,” said Sparrow. “This is the twenty-fifth of January. To the twenty-fifth of February is one month and to the twenty-fifth of March is another. The field ought to be in shape for playing by that time. Don’t you think so, Frank?”
“If we have a fairly early spring it ought to,” said Frank. “Still in this climate I’ve seen snow on the ground sometimes in April.”
“February is a short month,” said Fred hopefully. “That will cut the time down some.”