"Well, I mean it," resumed Teeter, helping himself to a handful of the crisp snaps. "That's where our weak point was last season. Many a game we gave away after we had it practically won, just because our pitchers went up in the air. And I'm afraid It'll be the same now. Frank Brown isn't much, unless he's improved a whole lot over season, and I don't believe he has. And as for Larry Akers—well, he's only a make-shift. Now, I'd like to see—"
But Teeters' little talk was Interrupted by the sound of footsteps in the corridor outside. For a moment the lads gazed anxiously at each other, and Tom made a grab for one of the fake books, but a look of relief came over their faces when the door opened and Peaches entered, followed by some one.
"I brought Ward with me," explained the lad with the fair complexion. "Thought it was the safest way. Come on in, Ward; I guess these Indians haven't scalped all the grub."
"Yes, fall to," invited Teeter. "There's plenty."
"Charmed, I'm sure," murmured Ward with an assumed society air.
"You know Joe Matson, of course," went on Peaches.
