“I guess Pete will put me in for an inning or two later. He’s giving us all a chance now. I—I’m pretty rotten so far.”
“Haven’t found yourself yet, I fancy. It takes a bit of time, eh? Bert says a lot of us will be dropped to the second pretty soon. I say, Baker, I wasn’t thinking of you, you know!”
“Oh, I’ll get dropped, all right, I guess.”
“Hope not, I’m sure. In my own case I wouldn’t mind a bit. Maybe I could play well enough to make the second. Or a class team perhaps.”
“I thought you—you fielded very well the other day,” said Dud politely.
Hugh laughed. “You’re spoofing, I fancy. I did catch a few, but I was beastly scared of them. Bert says I looked as if I were going to catch them in my mouth! Odd feeling you have when those balls begin to come down, getting bigger and bigger every second, and you’re wondering whether you’ll catch them or if they’ll hit you on the nose! Jolly good fun, though! Corking! Lots more exciting than cricket.”
“Is it? I never played cricket.”
“Oh, no end! Cricket’s a bully good game, too, but it’s a lot more quiet and—er—sedate, if you know what I mean. Well, I’ll toddle. Hope you get on finely, Baker. And drop in some time, eh?”
“Thanks,” answered Dud. Then, as Hugh moved away, he blurted: “Did you really mean that, Ordway?”
“What? Why, of course!”