“Let it go!” he shouted, as Dolph Jones tossed another ball to him. “Same play!”
This time the long fly was caught by Watkins and relayed to the plate in time to cut off the supposititious runner. Meanwhile “Midget” Green, a “Prep” of twelve years, whose chief ambition outside of school hours was to chase balls, was scrambling over the wall. “Chesty” Harris watched morosely.
“Gee,” he muttered, “I wish we had a field big enough to play ball in!”
There was nothing novel in this complaint, and so the hearers made no reply, unless a grunt by “Ducky” Drake could be called such. Every one heartily seconded Chesty’s wish, but they did so silently. Concurrence was a matter of course, just as protest every time a ball went over the stone wall was a matter of habit.
“I should think they’d move this fence back and give us more room.” This expression of opinion, uttered in a quiet, serious voice, came from a boy sitting on Sam’s left, a good-looking, well-built fellow of fifteen who had hitherto listened to the conversation in silence. The looks of surprise directed toward him faded as the others recognized the speaker.
“Oh,” said Joe Williams, “it’s ‘Kansas.’”
A smile went around, and the boy who had spoken echoed it faintly. “Well, now, couldn’t they?” he persisted.
“Oh, sure!” replied Chesty with a wealth of sarcasm.
But Sam answered seriously.
“Jack,” he said, “if that stone wall could be moved it wouldn’t be where it is. Benny has been trying to buy or lease that piece of meadow from old Finkler for years, but the cranky old hayseed won’t listen to him. The fact of the matter is, Jack, that old Fink doesn’t like us; hates us like pizen, to be strictly truthful.”