“Name?” asked the manager.

“Dudley Baker, Upper Middle.”

“Age, Baker?”

“Fifteen.”

“Experience?”

“I was on the second nine last year.”

“Position?”

“P-pitcher, please.”

Someone sniggered. It wasn’t Star, for Star never sniggered. It was too low and common. Star only looked insultingly amused. Barnes looked a little amused, too, although he tried not to.

“All right, Baker. Get on the scales and let me know your weight tomorrow. Don’t forget, please.”