“Pitcher; eh?” mused the coach, as he jotted Bill’s name down. “We’ve got about seven candidates, but the more the merrier. Glass arms are catching. Next!”
“Smith—Peter,” and the third member of the well-known family stood forth.
“Great Scott! Any more? What is this anyhow, a family affair?”
There was a laugh, and Mr. Windam wrote Pete’s name down with “shortstop” opposite it.
“Not so bad,” the coach murmured. “We need a good man at short, and you look as if you’d fill the bill.”
Sawed-off smiled in a gratified manner, and the taking of names proceeded. There was a large number of candidates, and they appeared promising, the coach, captain and manager agreed as they looked them over later. Then, announcing that work in the cage would start in two days, and admonishing the lads to be on hand, and do their best, the meeting was called to a close.
“Think we’ll make it?” asked Bill anxiously as he and his brothers, together with Whistle-Breeches, walked to their rooms, to at least make a pretense of reading and studying.
“We will if work is going to count for anything,” declared Cap.
The work soon began, and within the next few days there was a considerable weeding-out.
Our heroes were lucky, or, rather their former good playing stood them in excellent stead, and they, together with their friend of the former corduroy trousers, were among the fit survivors. True they were not assured of any particular positions on the team, but they realized that they would be fortunate if they made the Varsity at all. In batting Pete did better than either of his brothers, and he received some compliments from the coach.