“I say, Joe, what sort of a shirt have you got?”
“Same one I used on the Bentville Boosters; that was the name of our nine.”
“I see. A good name all right, but it will look funny to see that in among the uniforms of the Silver Stars. Your stockings and pants will do, but the shirt——” and Tom paused suggestively.
“That’s so,” admitted Joe. “I didn’t think about that. It’s a different color from yours, and I haven’t time to get another.”
“Never mind!” called Tom. “I tell you what you can do. Use my shirt. It’s the regular Star one, with the name on.”
“Won’t you want it?”
“No, I don’t think I’m going to get a chance to play. Darrell will probably hold down first all through the game. If I have to go in I can borrow some other fellow’s. But I want you to look right from the start.”
“Thanks,” called Joe as Tom disappeared in the house to get his shirt. It fitted Joe well, and he arranged to get his own in time for the next game.
“Say, there’s a big crowd here all right!” exclaimed Joe, as he and Tom neared the enclosed diamond that afternoon, and saw the stands well filled.