Baseball -- Juvenile fiction; High school students -- Juvenile fiction
“I don’t see why,” replied Gordon, leaning his arms on the top of the
fence. “We’ve all got our High School uniforms and we’ve all got bats
and mitts and things. All we’d need to spend money on would be balls, I
guess. Of course, when we went away every fellow would have to pay his
transportation.”
“M-meaning carfare?” queried Fudge. “Say, it’s a peach of a scheme,
Gordie! I wish I could bat better, though. Maybe I’ll get on to it, eh?
I guess what I need is practice.” And Fudge, swinging an imaginary bat
at an invisible ball, almost fell off the branch. “Who’s going to be
captain?” he asked when he had recovered his equilibrium.
“We’ll vote, I suppose,” replied Gordon.
Fudge grinned. “Then it’ll be me. I’m awfully popular. Have you told
Lanny yet?”
“Yes, and he says if you play center there’s got to be a rule that a hit
to center field is good for only three bases.”
Fudge snorted indignantly. “If he ever hit a ball as far as the outfield
he’d fall in a faint! When do we start?”
“I’ve got to see the other fellows yet. Harry is working in his father’s
store and I don’t know whether his dad will let him play.”
“That’s so. We need him, too. He’s a peach of a baseman. Who’s going to
play short?”
“I want Pete Robey to,” replied Gordon doubtfully. “Think he’d do,
Fudge?”
“We-ell, Pete isn’t so much of a muchness. Why don’t you p-put him in
center and let me play short?”
“Because a fellow has to have brains to play in the infield, Fudge,
and——”
Fudge tried to reach him with the racket, failed and, composing his
features to an expression of grave interest, asked: “Won’t it be awfully
hard to find anyone to play first?”
Gordon smiled. “Never you mind about first. Get your wheel and let’s go
around and see some of the fellows. We can catch Harry at the store if
we hurry. I want to see Tom, too. If he won’t go into it and pitch for
us we might as well give it up.”
“Oh, Tom’ll pitch all right,” answered Fudge, dropping from the tree,
racket in hand. “He’d rather pitch a baseball than eat. I’ll meet you
out front in two minutes.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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