“I’ll lend you a book of rules, Gus, and you can study it a bit. The game’s on Thursday at three. Don’t forget.”
“But—— Here! Hold on, you silly idiot! I’m not going to umpire for you! Don’t be a chump, Jonesie!”
“Why not, when we both want you to? It isn’t anything to do and it’ll be heaps of fun, Gus.”
“Heaps of fun!” muttered Gus. “Someone’ll bump me on the head with a bat, I suppose! Well, all right. If you can stand it I can. Don’t forget those rules, though. Does that book tell when a foul ball is a strike and all that sort of thing?”
“Surest thing you know! You’ll have it all down pat by Thursday, Gus. Thanks awfully.”
On Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday afternoons the All-Stars were supposed to hold practice, and about three-fourths of the school went down to the field to enjoy the spectacle. But the All-Stars were not to be found on any of the afternoons mentioned. That Jonesie and Pinky Trainor and Tubby Bumstead and all the other members of the team were busy somewhere seemed probable since none of them was visible around the school, but they certainly were not on the playing field, and some six score youths were correspondingly disappointed.
But had any of them penetrated to the Games Room situated on the upper floor of the Recitation Hall they would have been at once surprised and interested. There, behind locked doors, the All-Stars were practicing. The practice was novel, however. Instead of batting and fielding and sliding to bases, the All-Stars sat in chairs or along the edge of the billiard table and not a bat nor a ball was to be seen. But Jonesie was coaching.
“Now, then, take Jimmy Buell. He will play left field for them, I suppose. Who knows anything about Jimmy?”