"Because, in a little time, we'll round into shape. The nine is improving steadily, though some of the fellows are so excited and hasty they can't see it."
Roycroft shook his head.
"I don't doubt you are sincere in feeling that way, Somers," he said, slowly, "but the boys couldn't be made to think so. Then, again, you've lost your batting eye. Mr. Rupert Barry has kicked enough about that, I'm sure."
"I've heard about it," laughed Bob, dryly.
"And some of the fellows feel sure—I don't like to say it, Somers—that you're not playing as well as you did a couple of years ago. Tom Clifton, too, though he's done some pretty good work, doesn't seem to have the necessary physical strength."
Earl looked searchingly at his companion, expecting each instant to see a gleam of anger in his eye. Bob, however, gave no indication that his feelings were disturbed.
"One thing, Roycroft," he said: "you spoke about our traveling around so much we couldn't keep in good trim. This applies only to Dave, Tom and myself. There are six others in every game."
"Sometimes one man is enough to lose a contest," answered Roycroft, dryly.
"You're right there," grinned Bob.
"Aren't you going to listen to my advice, Somers?"