Jimmy stirred and muttered.
“One ball,” said Gus.
“Try again, Tubby! Careful of this one, James, and keep your eye on the ball. Don’t forget the carry-through, old top. Going to try a full swing?”
“Aw, cut it out!” growled Jimmy.
“Let’s see, James, you didn’t make the team last Fall, did you? It’s simply awful the way favoritism rules in athletics here! Keep your eye on the ball, James! Careful now!”
“Strike one!”
“Maybe you’d better try a brassie, old man. You want distance this time, you know. If you get bunkered——”
“Keep it up! You’re not bothering me a bit, Jonesie.”
“I’ll bet you’ll make the Golf Team yet, James. Any fellow with an eye like yours and a—er—physical development——”
Jimmy let the next one pass, and Gus promptly announced another strike. Jimmy wanted to argue about it, but Jonesie returned the ball without delay, and Jimmy had to content himself with a few well-chosen remarks which, owing to the fact that he umpired from a place well removed from danger, Gus probably never heard.