“Well, Joe, what do you think about it?” Tom Davis glanced at his chum across the room as he asked this question. It was several hours after the snow battle, and the two lads were studying, or making a pretense at it.
“Think about what, Tom?”
“Oh, you know what I mean—what happened to-day, and how it’s going to affect your chances for the nine. They look rather slim, don’t they?”
“Well, Tom, I don’t mind admitting that they do. I didn’t know Hiram was such a high-mucky-muck in baseball here. But there’s no use crying over spilled milk. He and I would have had a clash sooner or later, anyhow, and it might as well be first as last.”
“It’s too blamed bad though,” went on Tom.
“Yes,” agreed Joe, “especially as I picked out Excelsior Hall because their nine had so many victories to its credit, and because it had a good reputation. That’s what partly induced you to come here, too, I guess.”
“Well, yes, in a way. Of course I like baseball, but I’m not so crazy after it as you are. Maybe that’s why I’m not such a good player. If I can hold down first, or play out in the field, it suits me; but you——”
“I want to be pitcher or nothing,” interrupted Joe with a smile, “but I’m afraid I’m a long way from the box now.”
“Yes, from what I can hear, Hiram has the inside track in the baseball game. He’s manager chiefly because he puts up a lot of money for the team, and because his friends, what few he has, are officers in the organization.”
“Who’s captain?” asked Joe. “Maybe I could induce him to let me play even if Hiram is down on me.”