Arnold jeered. “Yes, you can! We’ll make you Towners look like a lot of pikers when we get at you! You’d better come and see that game, Phebe. It’s going to be some slaughter!”
“Yes, we’re going to treat you the way Admiral Dewey treated those other Spaniards,” laughed Toby. “You may fire when ready, Gridley!”
“I’m not worrying. Aren’t you fellows going to practice any before you play us?”
“Oh, we might get together Tuesday. We don’t want to be too good, you know.”
“Don’t be silly, Toby,” advised his sister. “You ought to get the boys together and practice a lot. You know very well that you won’t be able to play a bit well if you don’t. Why, Arnold says they’re going to practice every day.”
“Of course, they’ll need to,” answered Toby calmly. “Anyway, we can’t practice until we get a team, and we’ve only got six so far. How’d you like to play with us, Phebe?”
“Love to!” laughed Phebe. “But I’m afraid I’d get sort of dirty sliding to bases.”
“Who’ll we get to umpire?” asked Arnold.
“Mr. Murphy,” suggested Toby. “He’s quite impartial, aren’t you, you old rascal?”
The parrot blinked thoughtfully and sidled along his perch. Then he shrieked. “All hands, stand by!” at the top of his raucous voice and chuckled wickedly when Phebe put her hands to her ears.