“He wants to pitch on the scrub,” went on the originator of the scheme. “He’s all to the mustard, too, and——”
“Say, let me say a word for myself,” put in Joe. “I’m not a political candidate in the hands of my friends. Is there a show for me on the scrub, Ward?”
“Well, I haven’t made up the team yet, and you’re the first applicant for pitcher, so you’ll have first choice.”
“Then it’s as good as settled!” declared Peaches. “When do you make up the team, Ward?”
“To-morrow, I guess. I’ll put you down as first pitcher, Joe, and I hope you can throw a scare into the school team—not because I’m not on it myself, but the better opposition they have, the better they’ll play for the banner.”
“What about Hiram?” asked Tom. “Won’t he kick up a fuss if he knows you’ve got Joe? And what about Luke?”
“Say, I’m running the scrub!” exclaimed Ward. “They haven’t anything to say after I take charge. What I say goes!”
“That’s right,” agreed Teeter. “I’ll do Hiram that much justice. He never interferes with the scrub after the season starts. Neither does Luke. They have their hands full managing their own players.”
“Then I guess I’ll get a chance to pitch,” murmured Joe, and he was happier than he had been in some time. It was only a small beginning, but it was a start, and that meant a good deal.
Ward Gerard, whom Joe and Tom did not know very well, turned out to be a good-natured and pleasant companion. He was one of the new arrivals at the school, but already stood well in his classes and on the athletic field. Football was his specialty, but he was none the less a good baseball player and might have made the first team had he tried harder.