"Just bet you!" he beamed. "Back home we had a team and I played—"
"Pitcher?" asked John, breathlessly. The new boy nodded. Truly the fates were proving kind to the "Tigers" that day.
"What can you throw?"
"An 'in,' and an 'out,' and a 'slow ball.'" The expert paused in the summary of his attainments. "Last year, I was just getting so's I could pitch a drop. But it didn't work very well."
Dinner, maternal lectures, all were forgotten as John poured out the tale of the "Tigers'" woes to his new friend. Arm in arm, they made their way up to Silvey's house. That catcher tried out the new recruit, while John watched eagerly, and pronounced him all and more than he had claimed for himself.
"We'll fix the 'Jeffersons' now," John shouted confidently. "You can hold 'em, Francis, old boy."
He marched the new member over the tracks to the ball grounds, that afternoon, and introduced him to the delighted team. Sid heard Silvey's tale of the pitcher's prowess with ill-disguised resentment.
"He can play in the outfield," he said shortly. "I'm going to do it myself."
"You!" shrieked John.
"Yes, me!"