“And then for Westfield,” remarked Pete at the supper table that night, as they talked over their plans.
“I hope we can get on the nine there,” said Cap.
“Oh, sure we can,” declared Bill.
“Well, just because you can pitch well in the county league, doesn’t say that you’ll make good at Westville,” objected Cap. “They play big college teams there, you know.”
“Well, I’m not afraid of a college team,” said his brother. “We’ll make the nine—you see.”
“Hark! What’s that?” asked Pete suddenly, listening intently.
The sound of a tree toad came in through the opened window.
“Bateye Jones,” murmured Cap.
“Are you boys going out?” asked Mr. Smith, looking up quickly from the paper he was reading, as he heard the name of the lads’ chum.
“We—er—that is we thought of it,” replied Bill.