“How about our own practice?” asked Larry.
“I was coming to that,” replied McRae. “I’m going to get together just as husky a bunch of sluggers and fielders as can be found in the National League.”
He took a sheaf of telegrams from his pocket.
“I’ve got a lot of wires here from every club in the league, offering the services of any of their players I want,” he said. “We’ve had our own fight, and now that it’s over they’re all eager to help the National League to down the American. It means a good deal to each of them to have us come out winner. Even Brennan has offered to let me have some of the Chicagos to practise against. I saw him at the hotel last night, and, although of course he was sore that he didn’t win yesterday, he told me I could call upon him for any men I wanted.”
“He’s a good sport,” ejaculated Jim.
“Sure he is,” confirmed McRae, heartily. “He’s a hard fighter but he’s as white as they make ’em.”
He consulted a list on which he had jotted down a few names in pencil.
“How will this do for an All National team to practise against,” he asked.
“Konetchky, First base.
Niehoff, Second base.
Wagner, Shortstop.
Zimmermann, Third base.
Wheat, Left field.
Carey, Center field.
Schulte, Right field.
Pfeffer, Alexander, Pitchers.
Archer, Gibson, Catchers.”
A murmur went up from the players.