“But, I say, Bert,” Fleet asked, “you say we are to play Cleverdale to-morrow?”
“Yes.”
“How? There are only five of us. Have they a full nine?”
“Yes, and we will have our full nine players also. There will be five young fellows here in the morning to stay all day with us—boys who live in the neighborhood of Kattskill Bay, and who are anxious to acquire Cleverdale’s scalp. You see, there’s not enough of us here to make a team, so we are availing ourselves of the opportunity to secure some real college talent, and expect to win from Cleverdale very handily.”
“Oh, you flatterer!” cried Pod. “Real college talent! Is that us?” he demanded turning on Fleet.
“Well, it’s me, anyway,” was Fleet’s reply. “You don’t think I play first base for Winton for nothing, do you, youngster? And don’t forget that you are Terrible Podsy, king of the shortstops.”
“And you are Flippant Fleetsy, the bum first baseman,” Pod replied, dodging behind Chot, as Fleet made a move toward him.
The boys went out into the big pasture where they found a fine diamond, with the grass close-cropped by the constant feeding of the cows, perfectly level and worn smooth on the base lines. The boys uttered exclamations of delight.
“There’s nothing like a good ground, free from rough spots,” said Tom. “But I had no idea we’d find a ground up here as smooth as this.”
“Well, I’m beginning to find lots of wonderful things around here,” said Fleet. “Take those pancakes Mrs. Creighton made this morning, for instance.”