II
“Sparrow,” asked Jonesie that evening, “did you ever play ball?”
It was Saturday and so, of course, Sparrow Bowles, who was a tall and lanky youth and, in spite of being Jonesie’s roommate, was much disliked by that young gentleman, had a perfect right to spend his time over one of Dumas’ most exciting romances. It might be added, however, that Sparrow would have done just what he was doing had it been Monday or Friday or any other day of the week. I refuse to even insinuate a virtue that Sparrow didn’t possess. Sparrow looked up regretfully from the book.
“No,” he muttered. “What for?”
“Then you’re the chap I want,” replied Jonesie cheerfully. “I’ll put you down——” He frowned intently for a moment at the list before him and poised a pencil above it—“I’ll put you down for third base.”
“You can put me down for—for batter, if you like,” jeered Sparrow, thus showing the depths of his ignorance of the National Game, “but you don’t get me to break my fingers!”
Jonesie didn’t even glance up. “That just about finishes it,” he murmured. “I think, though, I’ll put Pinky at first instead of Wigman. Pinky says if he doesn’t play there he won’t play at all.”
“Say, what are you talking about?” demanded Sparrow, curiosity getting the better of an inherent contempt for any of Jonesie’s plans.
“I’m talking,” answered Jonesie with dignity, folding his list and returning it to a pocket, “about the All-Stars Baseball Team. You see, I’m getting up a team to give Billy Carpenter’s bunch of amateurs a little practice. We play them Thursday.”
“Play the School Team!” Sparrow turned Dumas’ face down on his knees and stared blankly at his roommate. “Say, are you funny in your head? Why—why, they’d lick the stuffing out of any team you could make up!”
“That’s what Billy thinks,” chuckled Jonesie.
“Should think he might!”
“But this team I’m getting up, Sparrow, is something a little bit out of the ordinary. Listen to this.” Jonesie found his list again and read it for Sparrow’s benefit. “Bumstead, pitcher; Jones, catcher; Trainor, first base; Hoyt, second base; Bowles, third base; Wigman, shortstop; Clint Wrenn, right field; George Wrenn, center field; Nash, left field. What do you think of that, Sparrow?”
“I think you’re crazy,” replied Sparrow with enthusiasm. “I’ll bet there isn’t a fellow in the lot ever played baseball!”
“Yes, there is,” rejoined Jonesie with a grin. “Both those Wrenns have played a lot. I thought first I wouldn’t have them, but I couldn’t get anyone else. You see, I told Billy I’d make up the team from the lower classes. But I put the Wrenns in the outfield where they won’t be able to do much harm.”
“If they can play why don’t you let them?” asked Sparrow puzzledly.
“‘A little learning is a dangerous thing,’”quoted Jonesie. “I’ve tried to get fellows who never have played, because I can teach them. You can’t teach a fellow who thinks he knows the whole thing to start with. Do you see?”
“No, I don’t see,” said Sparrow bluntly. “I suppose it’s another of your silly jokes, but you don’t get me into it!”
“Joke!” exclaimed Jonesie indignantly. “There’s no joke about this. It’s a perfectly—er—sincere attempt to help the School Team. Didn’t you hear what happened to them to-day? Got licked by Popham! Ten to two—or eleven to two; there’s some doubt about the exact figures, I think! And what’s Popham? A little old one-horse school up back there in the woods! Don’t you see that the Team needs to go up against a bunch that can give them a few pointers on how the game ought to be played? Why, Billy was almost tearful when I agreed to get a nine up, and——”
“Aw, piffle!” interrupted Sparrow inelegantly. Sparrow was somewhat addicted to inelegant speech. I trust he did not learn it from Dumas. “Why, there isn’t a fellow onthat list who knows what a ball looks like! Maybe the Wrenns do, but the rest——”
“You forget that we have three days to practice,” answered Jonesie patiently. “I shall teach them——”
Sparrow laughed immoderately. “You! Bet you never played baseball in your life!”
“Right-o; at least, not much. But I’ve watched a lot of it and I’ve got a pretty good notion of the way it ought to be played, old Sparrow Hawk.” Jonesie found his cap, settled it on the extreme back of his head and moved toward the door. “First practice is at three on Monday, Sparrow.”
“Me! You won’t get me into it,” declared Sparrow warmly. “I won’t have anything to do with your old team!”
Jonesie observed him in a pained way. “I’m afraid I’ll have to insist, Sparrow,” he said gently but firmly. “You wouldn’t like it generally known how Faculty found out about that little party at Steve Cook’s. You know, Sparrow, I’ve never told anyone about that—yet. But if you don’t play on the All-Stars I’ll be so dreadfully disappointed that I may get sort ofloose-tongued. Disappointment affects me that way. Queer, isn’t it? Three o’clock, Sparrow. Ta-ta!”
Jonesie closed the door behind him, and Sparrow could hear him tramping down the corridor, whistling blithely; Sparrow frowned darkly at the book on his knees.
“And I never caught a ball in my life!” he groaned.