“Yeah, I seen him.” There was much contempt in the boy’s tone. “He ain’t no good, sir.”
“Eh? Well, confidentially, I agree with you, but there he is, what?” Dave Cochran, dean of the pitching staff, joined them and Babe addressed him gravely. “This young gentleman, Davy, seeks a position on the team.”
Dave studied the boy smilingly. “Well, we sure do need a catcher,” he said. “Can you catch, kid?”
The boy nodded, digging his toe again. “Yeah, but he’s just kiddin’, Mister. I want to be your bat boy.”
“Oh, that’s it? Well, you’re about a month late. We already have young Cecil acting in that capacity.”
“Is that his name, honest?” inquired the boy with what might be called hopeful disgust.
“No, not honest, but that’s what he’s called,” replied Babe. “After all, what’s in a name? And, speaking of names, son, what is yours?”
“Gi——” He swallowed and started fresh. “Robert Burke.”
“Fine! And what do they call you?” asked Dave.