“I don’t think novels are flippant,” Hope replied rather indignantly. “You don’t call Ivanhoe and David Copperfield and—and all those flippant, do you?”
“No, but I wasn’t thinking of that sort of novels. If that’s what he’s doing—”
“You can’t tell. He might be. If he is I do hope he will tell us about it when it’s done. Wouldn’t you like to read it, Jeff?”
“I don’t know; I dare say. Anyhow, I know mighty well I’d rather read it than any old Latin book he could write!”
They found the grand-stand well filled when they reached the field, and after securing seats they had to wait but a minute or two before the visiting team appeared. Hope was relieved to find that the St. Luke’s blue was a very light shade of the color, although Jeffrey gravely assured her that blue was blue and that St. Luke’s wouldn’t mind if she didn’t wear the exact shade.
“There’s Brandon Gary over there,” said Jeffrey sotto voce as he indicated the direction with his glance. “I should think he’d feel pretty mean to be sitting up there not able to play.”
“Who is the nice-looking boy this side of him?” asked Hope. “The one leaning forward.”
“Joe Cosgrove. He’s baseball captain, you know. He is nice looking, isn’t he? They say he’s a dandy player.”