“Always room for one more,” commented the manager, who was ever on the lookout for good material for the nine. Perhaps Sam suspected something like this, for he glanced quickly at his companion.
“Say, if you think I’m not good enough——” began the pitcher, who was noted for his quick temper.
“Now, now, drop that kind of talk,” said Darrell soothingly. “You know we’re all satisfied with your pitching. Don’t get on your ear.”
“Well, I won’t then,” and Sam smiled frankly.
By this time Percy Parnell, the second baseman, and Fred Newton, the plucky little shortstop, had joined the pitcher and the manager, and greetings were exchanged.
“Are we going to wallop ’em?” asked Fred.
“Sure thing,” assented Sam.
“It’s going to be a hot game all right,” was Percy’s opinion.
“All the better,” commented Darrell. “Say the people are turning out in great shape, though. I’m glad to see it. We need a little money in our treasury.”
They turned in at the players’ gate. The Resolute team had preceded them, and already several of the members of that nine were in their uniforms and out on the diamond. They were lads of the same age as their rivals, and had about the same sort of an organization—strictly amateur, but with desires to do as nearly as possible as the college and professional teams did.