“You did? How, for pity’s sake?”
“Well, the first time I rolled one in front of base and the catcher threw to second to get Ordway. He didn’t, though, for Hobo’s a regular flash on the bases, and we were both safe. The next time I got pinked in the arm, the next time I hit between short and third—some little sizzler, that was, old scout!—and the last time I worked Mr. Pitcher for a pass.”
“Gee, you’re a lucky chap,” said Dud enviously.
“Lucky? Nothing of the sort. Brains, son, brains! Besides, do you call it lucky to have a long, easy fly go right through your fingers? Huh! Luck didn’t do anything for little Jimmy today! Say, how’d the meet come out? Heard we’d won it, but what was the score?”
They talked track meeting until the campus was reached and then Dud returned to the subject of the ball game. “They tried Star Meyer in center for a couple of innings; Parker got his leg spiked and Star wasn’t so bad. Made a pretty catch of a long one that went nearly to the fence and managed to beat out a bunt in the ninth. I suppose the first thing I know I’ll have to down him as well as Boynton.”
Dud looked surprised. “Do you think you’ve got a show, Jimmy?” he inquired.
“Why not?” asked the other, bristling. “Boynton’s not much better than I am. He muffs ’em, too, now and then. Of course, he’s hitting better, but I’ll wager he doesn’t get to first any oftener. But if they go and lug Star into the business, why, that’s different. I can’t win out against the whole school!”
“But you say they played Star in center. And you’re after right, aren’t you?”
“I’m after anything I can get, son. A fellow who can play center can play right or left, can’t he? An outfielder’s just an outfielder, you see, and you can’t play more than three of ’em at a time—and get away with it. Just now there are about six of us, all trying for three jobs. I wish Star Meyer would go soak his head and not butt in on baseball!”
Dud laughed. “You might suggest it to him, Jimmy. Who pitched besides Myatt? Did Brunswick get in?”