“Sure thing. Our pitcher’s just getting good now. Bede Porter never begins to pitch till the middle of the game. He will have you fellows eating out of his hand pretty soon.”
“Well, he’s pitched a pretty good game so far. Hello!” Dick was gazing in surprise at the boy beside him. “What have you done to your hair?”
Harold grinned. “Had it clipped. Mother’s so angry she can’t see straight. She said I wasn’t to, but I went down to the barber shop this morning before breakfast. Gee, it’s fine and cool!”
“Hardly the right thing to do, though, was it?”
“Oh, she’ll get over it. Other fellows have their heads clipped in summer, don’t they?”
Dick evaded the question. “How are you getting on with your lessons?” he asked. “Going to be all ready for me Monday morning?”
“I guess so,” replied Harold without enthusiasm. “Who’s the fellow catching for your team, Lovering?”
“Lansing White.”
“Gee, that’s a good name for him, White. He’s a regular tow-head, isn’t he?”
“Is he? He’s a fine chap, though.”