“Baseball,” said Gordon. “We’re getting up a team to play the Rutter’s Point fellows and we want you to join, Tom.”
“I don’t mind, if there isn’t much practice. There’s a lot to be done around the house here this summer. We’re going to shingle next week, and after that we’ll paint. Who’s on the team?”
Gordon explained all about it, read Bert Cable’s letter and Caspar Billings’ and told Tom the line-up of the nine as he had planned it.
“Sounds all right,” said Tom. “When are you going to start?”
“Right away. If you’ll pitch for us we’ll be all right. I’ll answer Billings’ letter and tell him we’ll meet him a week from Wednesday. That’ll give us a whole week for practicing.”
“All right, I’m with you, only don’t expect me to practice much, Gordon. I’m pretty busy. I’ll come out a couple of times, though; say—let me see—say Friday and Monday. Going to use the school field?”
“Yes. I don’t suppose anyone will object?”
“Don’t see why they should. You’d better see Mr. Grayson, though.”
“I will. No, that will be up to Dick. He’s going to be manager.”
“Dick Lovering?” asked Tom, in surprise. “Well, I don’t see why not. He can get around all right. Have you asked him?”