“Oh! Yes, there’s something in that. Here’s a bit about the baseball situation, but who cares about that? Let’s see, now—”
“Read it,” commanded Stanley.
Jimmy looked across protestingly. “But it’s of absolutely no interest to any one except a few mistaken idiots who—”
“Read it!”
“Oh, well!” Jimmy sighed. “‘Fall baseball practice, which started Monday, brought out an unusually large field of candidates. Six of last year’s creditable Team were on hand—’” Jimmy paused and sniffed. “‘Creditable!’ How do they attain that condition? ‘On hand, and practically all of the Scrub Nine. Of new men the more promising at present are Dixon, who hails from Springfield High School, and Jameson, from Earl Academy. Captain Grainger announces that daily practice will be held as long as the weather permits, and asks all those who expect to take part in baseball next Spring to report at once.’ There, there wasn’t a single mention of your name, Stan. I knew there was no call to read the piffle.”
“We’ll have a corking team this year,” mused Stanley.
“Huh, you said that last year, and look what Kenly did to you!”
“That’s all right,” replied the other warmly. “We landed seventeen out of twenty-one games and tied one—the best record in—”
“Son, you lost to Kenly, and that’s the unforgivable sin,” interrupted Jimmy didactically.
“Oh, well,” grumbled Stanley.