“No; but of course he will be on hand. What would a baseball meeting be without Ray Wendell? By the way, what a scare he gave me last month when he hinted about resigning the captaincy.”
“That was a queer notion. What started it, I wonder?”
“He said he was afraid it would interfere with his studies, especially his preparation for his final examinations.”
“Bosh!”
“Well, you know he is working for one of the honorary orations at commencement, and he said he would have to work hard, for there is to be a good deal of competition this year.”
“Nonsense, Wendell is sure of an oration, and probably the valedictory. There isn’t a smarter man in the Senior class. There is no reason why baseball should interfere at all.”
“Certainly not. If we are to have a winning team this year it will only be with Ray Wendell as captain—and so I told him. I showed him that all the fellows looked to him, and the college reputation rested in his hands. That soon brought him to terms, and he has never mentioned the matter since. I can’t help thinking, however, that there was more back of that freak of his than he said.”
“He knows as well as the rest of us how necessary he is to the nine,” I rejoined.
“And for that very reason I think something must have influenced him. At first I thought perhaps his father had asked him to give up baseball, but then I remembered that Mr. Wendell always seemed to be as proud of Ray’s athletics as he was of his high rank in his class. Still, I don’t care, now that he has let the matter drop.”
“What is that crowd doing outside of Burke Hall?” I asked. “Do you suppose that old Ferguson has forgotten to unlock the Latin room door?”