“You haven’t quite the shape for a ball player either, Brandon,” said Victor.
“Goodness—Dave’s turn now!” snickered Tom. “What kind of a figure must a ball tosser have, anyway?”
“Somers is about right,” answered Victor, calmly. “But a chap that is either all bones or all fat won’t do.”
“We’ll show you some day,” snapped Tom, hotly.
Baseball was a rather sore subject with Charlie Blake. He had tried it the season before, but lack of confidence in himself speedily caused him to drop out of the game.
Some of the boys who were not of a very considerate nature concluded that Charlie had a yellow streak, and, at this point, Bob Somers earned Blake’s everlasting gratitude by sticking manfully to him.
“Say,” remarked the latter, rather dolefully, “I’m sorry I didn’t make good on the nine last year. I certainly tried hard enough.”
“Maybe you didn’t have the right kind of a figure,” said Tom, with tremendous sarcasm.
“A nice thing to waste all this time,” grunted Victor. “We ought to be burning up some of those country roads.”
“That’s right,” laughed Bob Somers. “Pile in, fellows.”