“So are we,” put in Tom.
“They’ve got to hold the election to-morrow,” said Phil. “That’s the last day, according to the rules. Why, we haven’t had a bit of practice yet. We don’t know who’s going on the scrub and who has a chance for the ’varsity. I hope I can get center field.”
“Had you rather play there?” asked Tom.
“I always have. I fancy I know that position better than I do any other. But, to tell you the truth, I like football better than baseball. I’m going to try for the eleven this fall.”
“I hope you make it. But what’s going on?” asked Tom as he saw a little commotion about the gymnasium.
“It’s a scrub game,” exclaimed Sid. “That’s the stuff. Come on. Maybe we’ll get a chance. Langridge sees that he’s got to get things going.”
They hurried to the gymnasium and found that preparations were under way for a scrub game. There was also a notice on the bulletin board stating that the election for captain would be held the following day.
“I wonder if he’s got enough votes for Kerr?” mused Sid. “I hope not—for the sake of the team.”
The crowd, including students from all four classes of the college, moved off toward the diamond. Rivalries were forgotten in the interest in the game. The lads were not in uniform, but had on old clothes. Langridge was issuing orders and two temporary captains were chosen, they selecting their men. Bob, or “Bricktop” Molloy, the captain of last year, had one scrub team, and Pete Backus, who rejoiced in the nickname “Grasshopper” from the fact that he was always trying to see how far and how high he could jump, had another. Langridge assumed the rôle of manager, though there was little to manage.