"I WANTED TO ASK YOU HOW THE CLUB IS GETTING ALONG."—Page 64.
Larry, laying his brown hand on the timber guard that capped the railing betwixt them, said, "You startled me so, Miss Alice, that I almost forgot my manners; and I haven't much. Oh, you wanted to know about the prospects of the Catalpa Nine? Well, I do not think it would be wise to build many hopes on the future until we have met at least one of the best nines of the country about us. Some of our friends think we are going to sweep the deck. Excuse the expression. And some are even talking of our being the champion nine of the state."
"Why," said the girl, "don't you hope for the championship? Is not that what you are going out to get?"
"Of course, Miss Alice, we hope for everything that is in sight, as the saying is; but we cannot expect, with any sort of reason, for so great success as that during our very first season. The matches are now nearly all made up for the coming season, and if we were never so good players, we should have no chance for the championship, I am afraid."
"I never thought of that," said Alice. "What an awful lot you know about base ball. But then that is because you are a man. My papa says that girls have no business learning about base ball. Now what do you think, Mr. Boyne?"
"I am not used to being called 'Mr. Boyne' for one thing," replied Larry, gallantly, "and I should feel very much honored indeed if Miss Howell would remember that I am only 'Larry' the new third base man of the Catalpa Nine."
The heavy rumble of a farm wagon driving up on the town end of the bridge at that moment warned Larry that he must get out of the way. So, with a few concise words as to the all-absorbing topic of the day, he bowed, replaced his cap, and passed on to North Catalpa.
Sal Monnahan drove the sorrel horses that now came pounding along the wooden way. When she reached her home in Oneosho Village, that evening, she informed her nearest neighbor that she had seen "Larry Boyne lallygagging with that high-strung darter of Judge Howell's, on the North Catalpa bridge, that arternoon, and then when the gal came off she looked as if she had been talking with her sweetheart, her eyes were so shiny, just like dimonds, and her cheeks were as red as a poppy in the corn. It do beat all how that young Irish feller gets on with folks in town. Gals and fellers—all the same."
As for Larry, he went across the bridge, leading his nag, and walking so lightly that it seemed to him that his steps were in the air. While Armstrong was shoeing the horse and chatting the while with Larry, he thought within himself that this was a particularly fine young fellow, and that it was a pity that he was poor. Presently his thoughts took shape and he said: