“This tall Indian here has started one on paper,” put in Victor. “He’s spoiled about a hundred perfectly good sheets. Why? Can you play?”
“Kin I play?” echoed Joe. “Well—some.”
“In the major league class, I suppose?”
Joe grinned.
“Here, here, gentlemen,” exclaimed Victor, “I hereby propose that the managing director of Clifton’s great baseball nine immediately gets an option on the services of one Joseph Rodgers, Esquire.”
“Oh, don’t I wish I could play ball and enjoy myself like other boys,” sighed the young giant.
“But think how awful it would be when you had to slide for second base,” laughed Victor.
“Wouldn’t I like to go to school an’ git on a team,” murmured Joe, staring moodily at the ground.
“Stranger things have happened, Joe,” said Bob.
“It will never happen to me if Whiffin kin prevent it,” sniffed the circus boy.