"Don't you let him bother you, Jimmy," said Frank. "He's an A number one josher. Since you are good enough to play for the school, it's your job to stay there and do your best."
"What do you call your nine?" said Jimmy.
"Oh," murmured the Codfish, "it's a pretty, pretty name—the Piratical Pippins. I selected it from a hundred names, more or less. It was the worst I could think of."
"It sure is bad enough. And what are your opponents called?"
"The Hilarious Hitters—so-called because they can't hit anything—and the Rough Rowdies of the upper class. These are all alliterative names, you see," explained the Codfish, "and each has a significance which would not easily penetrate your cranium."
"Have the Freshmen a nine?"
"Sure, and a good one, too. We call them the Toy Toddlers."
"And which of these aggregations do you play Thursday?" inquired Jimmy.
"Let's see, where's my schedule?" lisped the Codfish, as he fumbled in his coat pocket. "Here we are—'Pippins versus the Hilarious Hitters, game called at 4 p. m. Umpire, Snooks'—and he's that fellow with the lopsided eye, but he makes a great umpire."
Jimmy laughed. "I'll be over to see you if I can. Now I've got to go and lay in a deep store of knowledge for to-morrow. I'm away. Good night."