And then a flat silence fell. Away out in center field a blue-stockinged youth had, after a desperate race, put up a hand and pulled down the ball. Steve had flied out! The game was over! Popham had won, 11 to 2! or was it 10 to 2?
Jonesie added an error to Billy’s column on general principles and closed the book with a vindictive slam.
II
“Sparrow,” asked Jonesie that evening, “did you ever play ball?”
It was Saturday and so, of course, Sparrow Bowles, who was a tall and lanky youth and, in spite of being Jonesie’s roommate, was much disliked by that young gentleman, had a perfect right to spend his time over one of Dumas’ most exciting romances. It might be added, however, that Sparrow would have done just what he was doing had it been Monday or Friday or any other day of the week. I refuse to even insinuate a virtue that Sparrow didn’t possess. Sparrow looked up regretfully from the book.
“No,” he muttered. “What for?”
“Then you’re the chap I want,” replied Jonesie cheerfully. “I’ll put you down——” He frowned intently for a moment at the list before him and poised a pencil above it—“I’ll put you down for third base.”
“You can put me down for—for batter, if you like,” jeered Sparrow, thus showing the depths of his ignorance of the National Game, “but you don’t get me to break my fingers!”