Part 8 (2/2)

”Yes.”

”How? There are only five of us. Have they a full nine?”

”Yes, and we will have our full nine players also. There will be five young fellows here in the morning to stay all day with us-boys who live in the neighborhood of Kattskill Bay, and who are anxious to acquire Cleverdale's scalp. You see, there's not enough of us here to make a team, so we are availing ourselves of the opportunity to secure some real college talent, and expect to win from Cleverdale very handily.”

”Oh, you flatterer!” cried Pod. ”Real college talent! Is that us?” he demanded turning on Fleet.

”Well, it's me, anyway,” was Fleet's reply. ”You don't think I play first base for Winton for nothing, do you, youngster? And don't forget that you are Terrible Podsy, king of the shortstops.”

”And you are Flippant Fleetsy, the b.u.m first baseman,” Pod replied, dodging behind Chot, as Fleet made a move toward him.

The boys went out into the big pasture where they found a fine diamond, with the gra.s.s close-cropped by the constant feeding of the cows, perfectly level and worn smooth on the base lines. The boys uttered exclamations of delight.

”There's nothing like a good ground, free from rough spots,” said Tom.

”But I had no idea we'd find a ground up here as smooth as this.”

”Well, I'm beginning to find lots of wonderful things around here,” said Fleet. ”Take those pancakes Mrs. Creighton made this morning, for instance.”

The other boys laughed as Fleet smacked his lips.

”What I am figuring on now,” Fleet continued, ”is how to get word to her to have another batch to-morrow morning.”

”I'll tell her,” said Bert, amused at Fleet's perpetual desire for food.

”Thought maybe you would if I mentioned it,” said Fleet.

The boys took turns batting flies and grounders, Chot taking most of the burden because he was to pitch, and needed very little practice on the diamond. So he batted to Pod and Bert, who threw the ball to Fleet at first. Fleet, in turn, threw to Tom who stood at the plate, his big catcher's mitt on his hand. Tom caught the b.a.l.l.s and tossed them to Chot, who would then bat them out again.

Every now and then Pod would dash swiftly to second, when Fleet was throwing the ball home, and Tom would seize it and shoot it down to the second cus.h.i.+on with all his old-time speed. Pod would then seize the sphere and put it on an imaginary runner, and throw to Fleet again to catch an imaginary runner at that bag.

”This seems like old times,” said Fleet. ”There are many outdoor games, but after all there is only one.”

”There are many, and yet there's only one. There's a riddle for you-figure it out!” cried Pod.

After a while, breathing heavily from their exertions, for the morning was warm, Pod, Bert and Fleet decided to stop. Then Chot took the ball and threw for fifteen minutes to Tom, speeding them in as his arm grew more limber, until the ball became but a mere flash in the atmosphere as it pa.s.sed from one chum to the other.

Then, practice over, the boys stretched themselves out in the shade of a big oak tree for an hour of solid comfort.

”If Dan, Randy and Wilkes were here, I'd be perfectly happy,” said Bert.

”But I suppose it's impossible for all of us to be together the whole year round.”

”And I wouldn't mind in the least if Truem Wright were here,” said Chot, which remark occasioned some surprise among his comrades.

”Well, I've forgotten the mean things he did,” said Tom. ”But I haven't taken him to my heart sufficiently to wish he was here at this moment.”

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