“Who do we play?” asked Spike. Joe felt his heart sink down lower than ever, for he realized that if he had a chance he would have heard of it by this time.
“Oh, it isn’t a regular game,” went on Jimmie, who was jubilant from having heard that he would at least start at first base for the class team. “The scrub, as they call it, and ’varsity will play the first regular contest. Horsehide is to be there for the first time. Then there’ll be something doing. I only hope he sees me.”
“The first regular practice game to-morrow,” mused Joe. “Well, it will be a good one—to watch.”
“Yes—to watch,” joined in Spike, grimly. “But the season is early yet, Joe.”
As they were talking the door opened and Ricky Hanover came in. He was grinning broadly.
“Let’s go out and have some sport,” he proposed. “It’s as dull as ditch water around here. Come on out and raise a riot. I’ll take you fellows down to Glory’s, and you can have a rabbit.”
“Get out!” cried Spike. “We’re in training, you heathen, and you’re not.”
“A precious lot of good it will do you,” commented the newcomer. “Why don’t you chuck it all? You’ll never make the team—I mean you and Joe, Spike. Jimmie here has had luck. Chuck it and come on out.”
“No,” spoke Joe slowly. “I’m going to stick.”
“So am I,” added his room-mate. “You never can tell when your chance will come. Besides, we owe it to Yale to stick.”