“Wait, I’ll ask some one,” volunteered Tom, and tapping on the shoulder a Morningside player near him, he asked: “Is he one of your nine?” Tom pointed to Sam Morton, who had not yet observed our heroes.
“What? Oh, yes; he’s a newcomer here I believe, but he had quite a reputation, so Captain Dalton put him on as substitute pitcher.”
“Substitute pitcher!” gasped Joe.
“Yes, he’s rather good I believe. He hasn’t had much practice with us as yet or we’d have played him part of the time against you fellows to-day. Why, do you know him?”
“Yes. He used to be on the same town team with me,” replied Joe.
“He’ll probably play next week,” went on the Morningside lad, “and when we meet you fellows again he’ll probably do what Ted Clay did to-day,” and he grinned cheerfully—there is nothing like a cheerful enemy.
“Sam Morton here,” murmured Joe, as if unable to believe it, while his old enemy strode on without having seen him, and the Morningside lad, who had given them the information swung about on his way to the dressing rooms.
“Say, that’s going some!” exclaimed Joe, as he and Tom walked on. “Fancy meeting Sam Morton here. I didn’t hear that he was going to boarding school.”
“Neither did I. He must have made up his mind lately. Probably he began right after the Easter vacation. I didn’t spot him at the time of the banner parade.”