“I’d like to see the bunch of players you’d get together, Jonesie,” he said. “They’d be wonders.” He laughed most disagreeably. “Bring ’em along some day and give us some sport, Jonesie. We need practice——”
“You sure do! You need more than that, though, old top; you need to learn what to do on a ball field. For instance, now, if someone explained to Proudfoot that a bat is made to swat the ball with and not to hang over his right shoulder, he might do something besides posing like one of those Roman gladiators at the circus. Yes, sir, Billy, you fellows certainly ought to have a little instruction.”
Captain Carpenter opened his mouth to reply hastily and angrily. But he closed it again. After all, it was only Jonesie talking! Jonesie indicated on the score book that Proudfoot had been hit by a pitched ball and had taken his base and then credited the Popham pitcher with a put-out on the ground that anyone who inflicted pain on Proudfoot was a public benefactor and deserving of reward! Then, after another moment, Jonesie spoke again.
“What day will it be convenient to play us, Billy?” he asked.
“Play who?” inquired Billy, wondering whether it was worth while to relieve Steve Cook in the coacher’s box and try to get Proudfoot around for a run.
“This team I’m going to get up,” answered Jonesie. “Any day next week will suit us.”
Billy laughed derisively. “Cut out the comedy, Jonesie,” he begged.
“Well, I don’t much blame you,” was the reply. “It would look bad to be beaten by a lot of lower-class fellows. I guess you’re right to back down, Billy.”