"Think you can get anybody to play any better for you than I play?" he asked flippantly.
"You bet I can," said Ted. "I can use a fellow who'll be in the game every minute."
"Get him," Tim said indifferently.
"I will," said Ted. "You're through. Get off the field."
Tim was jarred. He hadn't expected anything like this. He looked at Ted.
There could be no escaping what he saw—the captain meant it.
"Where—where are you going to get another catcher?" he asked weakly.
"Is it worrying you?" Ted asked. "I'll go behind the bat myself. I guess I can get somebody to play first base. Now get off the field; you're in the way."
Tim walked over to the maple tree and stood there in its shade. He was raging. Chased from the field! Routed out as though he didn't amount to a rap, and he the best catcher in the village!
"I'll play with some of the other teams," he vowed. "I'll offer to catch for them. I'll come here and make these fellows feel sick. I'll—"
But he knew that he'd do nothing of the sort. Breaking into teams out of your own town was almost impossible. He was out of it, on the shelf, discarded.