“Going to try for it, Bondy?” asked Whistle-Breeches of their wealthy neighbor at Bill’s end of the corridor.
“Me? No. Baseball is such a rough and dirty game. But I shall cheer for our team, and back it with my money, of course. Do you think we have a chance to win the championship? I’d like to wager something on it.”
“Oh, you and your money!” growled Whistle-Breeches as he turned away in disgust. “We play ball at Westfield for the game—not for bets!”
“Ah—really!” exclaimed James Guilder in supercilious tones as he wiped his glasses with his silk handkerchief.
There was a big crowd in the gymnasium that afternoon, when Mr. Windam, who occupied the platform with Captain Graydon and J. Evans Green, the manager, banged his gavel for order.
“You all know why we are here, so there is no use wasting time going over that,” said Mr. Windam. “There are several vacancies on the Varsity nine, and we shall be glad to have new candidates announce themselves. You new men will all be given a fair try-out, and those who do not make the team will become substitutes.
“I might add, though you probably all know it, that we won the pennant last year by only a narrow margin. It is going to be hard to keep it this year, for I understand Tuckerton College, our most formidable rival, has an exceptionally strong team, and they are after our scalps.”
“Well, they won’t get ’em!” Voice from the throng.
“Not if we can help it,” went on the coach. “Only I want to warn you that we expect top-notch playing from every member of the team. Financially we are in good shape, and just as soon as the candidates can be picked out we’ll begin work in the cage. This week, if possible.
“Now, Mr. Green, Captain Graydon and myself will take your names if you will come forward.”