“Too bad,” said Jimmy. “I was afraid you might overdo it, Dud.”
“Well, whose silly idea was it, anyway?” demanded Dud indignantly. “Who suggested practicing every day, I’d just like to know?”
“I did, of course, but I didn’t tell you to do too much of it and lame yourself, did I? What you’ve gone and done, Dud, is catch cold in it. You ought to be mighty careful that way. You ought——”
“Oh, dry up,” grumbled Dud. “You make me tired. If you know so pesky much about it, why didn’t you say something before? I wouldn’t have caught cold in it if you hadn’t insisted on slopping around in that rink yesterday with the water up to your ankles! No wonder I caught cold!”
“Well, you’ll have to lay off a few days, old chap. It’ll be all right again, I guess.”
“That’s fine, isn’t it, when I’ve got to report for practice this afternoon?”
“You won’t have to pitch, though,” responded Jimmy consolingly. “Just do the setting-up stuff. Come on and get your bath.”
“I don’t want any bath,” muttered Dud, still feeling of his pitching arm with cautious fingers. “You go ahead.”
“Dud,” said the other severely, “you’ve got a grouch. You must have got out of bed the wrong way.”
“I did, when you pulled me out,” was the pointed reply. “And who wouldn’t have a grouch, I’d like to know? I’ll have a fat chance to do any pitching, won’t I?”