The owners of the Journal were proud of the prowess of the Journal team and their interest in baseball. The owners had this year ordered baseball suits for the team, and the Journal nine had challenged the Star team to a game to be played at the annual outing.
The suits arrived one day during Tim’s first week on the paper and that afternoon no one worked. Fortunately, Bossy did not come in with the boxes until the paper was out. Bossy’s eyes were just visible over the big flat suit boxes. Instantly, every member of the staff forgot that the paper must come out to-morrow just as to-day. They’d all work overtime to-morrow and get it out in record time, but now they had to look at the suits.
They were striped gray flannel with “Journal” written across the front in flaming red letters.
Bossy’s brown eyes were almost popping out of his face. He had always played substitute, but he was a bit puzzled now. Was he to have one of the suits?
“Here’s my fat one,” Cookie held up a shirt by the sleeves across his plump front. He was a dandy catcher but a bit slow on bases.
“This skinny one must be yours, Mack!” The editor tossed him a gray bundle. “Just look through these, Bossy. There was one ordered for you.”
Bossy’s eyes blinked behind their glasses. “Deed and I will, sah.”
Then the red socks were distributed. “Double up your fist and if it goes around that, it’ll fit.” Miss Betty did the measuring.
Chub was squeezing into his suit, putting it on over his everyday clothes, and soon the others followed his example. Cookie looked like a young boy in his. They all paraded up and down, until Miss Betty rushed to her typewriter and began pounding out a poem to celebrate the occasion. She called it, “The Wearing of the Gray.” They all clapped when she read it aloud. She tried to coax Mr. Nixon to promise to print it.
“Luckily for me,” said the editor, “the Journal’s policy is never to print poetry.”