Rodman Cree wrinkled his nose in perplexity. "But I can't play baseball. You know I can't. I've told you so."
"Oh, rats! You knocked a home run that first day of school, and you can do it again. Come on, Buck; let's choose up."
The game lasted only three innings, for by that time the girls had started a marshmallow roast; but it was quite long enough. In the first inning, Rodman played third until he had muffed two perfect throws, when Bunny shifted him to the outfield. Here he misjudged an easy fly and strained to correct his error by throwing the ball twenty feet over the head of Bi, who was wildly trying to nip a runner at second.
At bat, in the third inning, with two out, bases full, and Bob Kiproy pitching a straight ball, poor Rodman had his last shred of reputation removed.
Three times Kiproy pitched wide, high balls. Rodman scraped the dust trying to hit, and lunged two feet across the plate trying to hit, and jumped high in the air trying to hit.
And he never touched the ball.
"I see I was mistaken," observed Specs, as he walked in from third, where he had been stranded high and dry as a runner. "I thought he was some good at baseball, anyhow, but he's no good at anything."
How Peter Barrett Observed the Way Scouts Regarded Patched Clothes
At four o'clock Peter Barrett was walking in a little grove back of an open field, attempting to memorize a poem for Monday's class. Also, between times, he was endeavoring to be fair to the Black Eagle Patrol; for a talk with Molly had convinced him that perhaps he had made a mistake in supposing the Scouts to be snobs. At this juncture, he caught sight of Bunny, legs apart, talking defiantly to a ragged youngster from the nearest farm.
"No, you can't come in here," Bunny was saying shortly. "We have this place for the afternoon. You will have to go somewhere else."