“It’ll be pretty sloppy,” observed Phil dubiously.
“Wear rubbers,” advised the captain. “The fellows need some fresh air, and they’re going to get it. Be on hand, Sid?”
“Sure. Now I’ve got to get a disagreeable job over with. Me for the doctor’s office,” and that was his only reference to the punishment meted out to him. He was required to do the usual number of lines of Latin prose, which was not hard for him, as he was a good scholar. Tom and Sid went to their lectures, the captain, on the way, calling to the various members of the team to be on hand at the diamond in the afternoon.
Sid accomplished his sentence of punishment in the room, and after dinner the three chums, with a motley crowd of players, and lovers of the great game, moved over the campus toward the diamond.
“Done anything about a manager?” asked Holly Cross, as he tightened his belt and began tossing up a grass-stained ball.
“Not yet,” replied Tom. “There’s time enough. I want to get the fellows in some kind of shape. We won’t play a game for a month yet—that is any except practice ones, and we don’t need a manager to arrange for them. Whom have you fellows in mind?”
“Ed Kerr,” spoke Holly promptly. “He knows the game from A to Z.”
“I thought he was going to play,” came quickly from Tom. “We need him on the nine.”
“He isn’t going to play this season,” went on Holly. “I heard him say so. He wants to save himself for football, and he says he can’t risk going in for both. He’d make a good manager.”