“No, you were up first the last time we played. It’s Sammie Small’s turn, if it isn’t mine,” and Tommy Tiptop, a sturdy, stout chap of ten years, looked around at his companions, boys of about his own age. They had gathered on a vacant lot after school to have a ball game.
“That’s right!” cried Sammie Small. “I haven’t had a chance to hit the ball this week. You fellows keep me chasing after the ones you knock all the while.”
“Well, come on then, if we’re going to play!” exclaimed Tommy, who always liked to be busy, if not at one thing then at another. And when he found that it wasn’t his turn to bat he was willing to do something else. “Come on!” he cried. “I’ll pitch and Sammie can bat. We haven’t got enough for sides, and——”
“Yes, we have, too!” suddenly cried Horace Wright. “Here come Dan Danforth and George Squire. That makes five on a side, and we’ll choose——”
“Who are going to be the captains?” asked Dan, as he and George hurried up, tossing their books in a pile on the green grass.
“I’ll be one captain!” exclaimed Tommy Tiptop.
“Oh, you always want to be a captain!” sniffed Horace.
“Well then, be it yourself,” agreed Tommy quickly. “Only let’s play. What’s the good of standing here talking all day?”
“You’re talking as much as the rest of us,” put in Patsie Cook. “I’ll tell you what we’ll do. We’ll race to the big tree, and the two first fellows to get there shall be the captains.”
“That’s the way!” came in a chorus from the other lads, and instantly they set off at top speed for a big maple tree that grew on the edge of a brook which flowed through the meadow near the school—a meadow where the small boys used to play ball. The larger lads had a regular diamond, with canvas bags for bases and a real home plate that didn’t get lost or kicked aside every time a cow walked through the field. But Tommy and his friends were satisfied with their way of doing things.