“Torney is our catcher,” remarked Jacobs, the second baseman casually, as if imparting information.
“I know,” replied Larry, “but no one is a member of the team this fall until he wins his place. Candidates for catcher!”
Eight candidates stepped out.
“Pitchers!” called Larry.
“Oh, I say Kirkland,” said Jacobs anxiously, “the fellows who won their places last year are entitled to stay.”
“Not unless they’re better than the others,” replied Larry briefly. “We want a ball club, not a friendly, social organization.”
His quick squelching of the spirit of rebellion among the veterans appealed to the candidates. Fifteen who claimed to be pitchers were separated from the others and set to work throwing to the catchers. Rapidly the entire squad was divided into groups according to what positions they thought they could play. Not one volunteer offered himself for third base.
“Looks as if I have a cinch,” laughed Larry. “Don’t be afraid to try, you third basemen; if you’re better than I am you’ll get the job.”
Little McAtee, a splendid fielder and speedy, laughed.
“All right, Cap,” he said. “I’ll tackle you, but I think you can beat me.”