"Hey, right-fielder," demanded Johnny, as Frank, the batting side having now been retired, trotted toward the plate, "what's your name?"
"Armstrong," shouted that individual over his shoulder.
"Come here, Armstrong," said the trainer in peremptory tones.
Frank halted and went back to him.
"You look to me like a jumper. What are you doing over here when you can jump 18 feet with baseball clothes on?" he demanded.
"Trying to play ball the best I know how."
"Any chance to make it?" said the trainer as he walked along toward the plate while the First team went to their places in the field.
"Not very good looking now," returned Frank. "I'm sort of a seventeenth sub-pitcher and outfielder."
"So! I want you over at the track for a day or two. You ought to jump a mile. Say, Thomas," this to the coach, "let me have Armstrong for a day or two. I'm in an awful hole for jumpers and he ought to make one or I miss my guess. If he doesn't turn out right, you can have him back again. If he does, you'll never get him!"
"That's right, come and take my men away from me," grumbled Thomas. "But I can spare him just now as he is a pitcher and I've got three pretty good ones. Send him back here if he doesn't make good."