“That’s crazy! I’ll bet the rest of you didn’t know it, either! Gee, I’d like to ask you guys a few!”
“Go ahead,” advised Pill. “Show ’em up, Hank.”
Hank looked grim for a moment, and it was plainly to be seen that he was doing some hard thinking. Then, as expectant silence prolonged itself, a slow grin overspread his face and he shook his head. “No use,” he said, chuckling. “I can’t think of any!”
“Well, it looks to me as though Tommy had won his point,” said Anstruther. “So it behooves us to listen respectfully to his pleasant criticisms of the Team. Go ahead, Tommy, and say your piece.”
Tommy shrugged. “I’ve said it. I said this year’s team was the punkest I’ve seen here, and I say it again.”
“Well, you’ve seen quite a few,” remarked Chick, with a wink at Bert. “How many years have you been here now, anyway, Tommy? This your fourth or fifth?”
“Third,” replied Tommy untroubledly amidst the laughter. “I saw last year’s team and the team before that, and I’m seeing this thing you’ve got here now, and I say it ain’t so good, fellows. Mind you, I’m saying this for your benefit, not because I want to crab.”
“Oh, no, you never crab, Tommy!” said Pill.
“What,” asked Coles in a patient voice, “strikes you as being the principal—ah—weakness?”
“The players,” replied Tommy promptly, and allowed himself a wicked grin.