“What’s the matter with me?”
“You look so—so funny!”
“Do I?” Anthony grinned and unfolded himself. “I was thinking a while ago that I was like a pair of scissors I saw once. The blades tucked back against the handles. How’d the game come out?”
“Pretty well; seven to nothing. Millport came pretty near getting a run in the fourth, but after that she didn’t have a ghost of a show. I didn’t, either. I didn’t get in for a minute; just sat on that old bench and looked on and nearly froze to death.”
“Too bad,” sympathized Anthony.
“Wasn’t it? However, I don’t care very much. Hanson sat with me a while and we had a long talk. He knows a whole lot about baseball; stuff I never thought of; scientific part of the game, you know.”
“Hanged if I do!” answered Anthony. “I don’t know a baseball from a longstop.”
“A what?” gasped Jack.
“Longstop; isn’t that it?”