Further than being catcher, Rex was captain of the Walcott Hall nine. Off the field he was even more easy and democratic than most fellows, but in practice or in a game he was the leader, and would brook no rebellion against his authority.
When Cloudman had come in and joined the sullen Midkiff in the shade, Rex whipped around to look at Horace Pence. "Want to get out there and see if you can find the pan to-day?" he asked. "I can give you a little time before sending those babies of mine out to practice base throwing."
"If you talk to me the way you have been ballyraggin' those chaps, I'll maybe punch your head," drawled Horace.
"That would be careless of you. You might make me cry. You might wake up," Kingdon shot at him with surprising fierceness, "and find yourself in the hospital!"
Horace laughed. Then he drawled, as he walked out toward the pitcher's box: "My goodness! You're some bully, aren't you? Where's your umpire?"
"Want one?"
"I'm going to show you I can cut the platter."
"I don't see any of your crew here."
"Call one of yours. I can stand him. That sunny-tempered chap you call Midkiff is my choice. He just loves me, I know. If he says it's a fair ball I shall know I've earned it."
"Jawn, as a favor to me, please," begged Rex, adjusting his mitt.