“Can you blame him?”
“No, I don’t know that I can,” was the frank answer. “I s’pose I’d do the same thing. But I hope in time to be a better pitcher than he is.”
“How are you coming on with the coach?”
“Fine. Mr. Lighton has given me some good pointers, and I needed them. My curves are all right and so is my speed. It’s my control that’s weak, and I’m getting rid of some of my faults.”
“We’re going to have a practice game with you scrubs to-morrow or next day,” said Sid. “Maybe you’ll get a chance to show what you can do then.”
“I hope so. I want to show Langridge that he isn’t the only bean in the pot, to put it poetically.”
“Very poetically,” murmured Sid, who seemed to be dozing off.
“Say, Sid,” exclaimed Tom suddenly, “do you remember what you started to say about Langridge the other day and stopped?”
“Yes.”
“What was it?”