“Well, you’re a lucky chap, then,” said Dick pleasantly. “By the way, are you going to see the ball game Saturday?”
“Yes, I guess so. That is”—with elaborate concern—“unless you don’t want me to.”
“I was going to say that if you’ll ask for me at the gate I’ll pass you in, Harold.”
“Why, are they going to charge?”
“Yes; twenty-five cents.”
“Gee, they’ve got a crust! Who’d pay twenty-five cents to see a lot of wooden-heads play ball?”
“Well, we’re hoping a lot will. Anyway, you won’t have to. Just ask for me at the gate. I guess it will be a pretty good game. Do you like baseball?”
“I suppose so.”
“Do you play?”
“Sure! What do you think I am—a wooden Indian?”