who weren't going to play," interrupted Tom. "That's you and I."
"Wait a bit," advised Joe. "I was going to say that when the season has started and several games have been played there may be a change. I may get a chance to play then, just as I did on the Stars. I'm willing to wait. The Summer is long, and there'll be more than one game. Just say nothing."
"Well, if you say so, I suppose I'll have to," answered his chum, "but it's mighty hard to keep still when a fellow like Hiram Shell rubs your nose in the dirt, and then kicks you in the bargain. He'll have to ask me to play now. I won't volunteer!" and Tom shook his fist in the direction of the manager. "Yes, he'll have to get down on his knees and—"
"Precious little danger of that," remarked Joe with a laugh. He was feeling more like himself now, though the memory of the bully's sneering words rankled. They had cut deep.
"Guess there's no use catching any longer," resumed Tom after a pause. "I don't exactly feel like it."
"Me either. I guess we've gotten over our touch of spring fever," and Joe's voice was a bit despondent. Really, he cared more about what
