"We'll be all past that, by afternoon," Dan broke in. "Then, as soon as the bell rings to dismiss school, we'll all pile outside and have a ripping practice on the diamond."
"Yes; we'll have to get a lot of practice," Dick assented. "Otherwise, you know, the North Grammar will just wipe up the field with us Wednesday afternoon."
"The North Grammar!" sniffed Greg scornfully. "Hi Martin's crowd?
Huh!"
"Those North Grammar boys have been practising," Dick insisted.
"Hard work is what tells in athletics."
"Well, hang it, didn't you keep us running all through the spring?" demanded Dalzell. "Didn't you say that would put us away at the top in Grammar School baseball?"
"It will help us a long way," assented Dick. "Yet it won't do everything. Each of us has to be as nearly perfect as possible in the position that he has to play. That's why we really need a lot more practice than we've had on the real field."
"The worst of it is" suggested Tom, "that we've got all of the best players in the school on our regular nine, and the scrub nine isn't made up of fellows who can really give us any work."
"Don't croak, Dick," begged Dave. "This day is too perfect to have it spoiled by any calamity howling."
Presently Darrin rolled over on his side once more. Greg took a peep, became suspicious, and started to hum:
"He was the Sleepiest Boy."