“Where?”
“Excelsior Hall.”
“Hum! Yes. Never heard of it. Where did you play?”
“I pitched.”
“Pitched. Hum! Yes. I never saw so many pitchers as we have this season. Well, I’ll put you down for your Freshman class team, though I can’t give you much encouragement,” and Mr. Benson turned to the next lad. “Go over there and do some throwing, I’ll watch you later,” he concluded, and Joe’s heart began to sink as he saw Spike motioning to him to come to one side and indulge in some practice balls.
“How’d you make out?” asked his room-mate.
“Oh, I’m engaged right off the bat,” laughed Joe, but he could not conceal the anxiety in the voice that he strove to make indifferent.
“So? Then you had better luck than I. Whitfield told me he didn’t think I had the right build for a catcher.”
“Well, maybe we can both make our scrub class team,” spoke Joe.
“Say, it hasn’t half begun yet,” declared Jimmie Lee, who had a hankering to play first base. “Wait until the main coach gets here, and we’ll have a shake-up that’ll set some people on their ears.”