“Huh! Maybe you came here to play baseball!” suggested Hiram with a leer. “Seems to me I heard that you had some such notion.”
“Well, I have,” asserted Joe confidently. “I like the game, and I’d give a good deal to get on the nine. So would Tom, I guess.”
“First base is filled,” snapped Hiram.
“How about pitcher,” asked Tom eagerly, anxious to put in a good word for his chum. “I hear you need a new pitcher.”
“Oh, you did; eh?” exclaimed the bully with an unpleasant laugh. “Well, you’ve got another ‘hear’ coming. Besides, if there wasn’t another pitcher in the country, you wouldn’t get a chance, Matson!”
“No?” queried Joe easily.
“No, and a dozen times no! What, you pitch? Say, you may have been all right on a sand-lots team, but there’s some class to Excelsior Hall. We don’t want any dubs on our nine. You think you might pitch on my team? I guess nixy! We want some fellow who can deliver the goods.”
“Joe can!” exclaimed Tom eagerly.
“Aw, forget it!” sneered Hiram. “Why, you’d be knocked out of the box first inning with some of the teams we play. You pitch! Ha! Ha! That’s pretty rich. I’ll have to tell the fellows about this!”
“I didn’t ask you to let me pitch,” said Joe quietly though an angry spot burned in either cheek.