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er of himself or not, but I was thinking that Hooker might pan out fairly well if only Phil would take the same interest and pains with him as he's taking with Rod."
"Perhaps so," said the captain of the nine; "but I have my doubts. Roy is too egotistical to listen to advice and coaching, and he entertains the mistaken idea that curves and speed are all a pitcher needs. He hasn't any control."
"But he might acquire it."
"He might, if he only had the patience to try for it and work hard, but you know he's no worker."
They had reached the gymnasium, and the discussion was dropped as they entered and joined the boys in the dressing room, who were hurriedly getting into their baseball togs. Hooker was there with the others, for he had a suit of his own, which was one of the best of the discarded uniforms given up at the opening of the previous season when the team had purchased new suits. There was a great deal of joshing and laughter, in which Roy took no part; for he was a fellow who found little amusement in the usual babble and jests of his schoolmates, and nothing aroused his resentment quicker than to be made the butt of a harmless joke. He had once choked Cooper purple in the face in retaliation for a jest put upon him by the audacious, rattle-brained little chap; but later Chipper had accepted Roy's apologies and protestations of regret, practically forgetting the unpleasant incident, which, however, Roy never did.
"Ah-ha!" cried Sile Crane, bringing forth and flourishing a long, burnt, battered bat. "Here's Old Buster, the sack cleaner. Haowdy do, my friend? I'm sartainly glad to shake ye again."
"Up to date," said Cooper, tying his shoes, "I've never seen you do any great shakes with Old Buster."
"Oh, ain't ye?" snapped Sile resentfully. "Mebbe yeou've forgot that three-sacker I got with this club in the Clearport game."
"Um-mum," mumbled Chipper. "Now you mention it, I do have a faint recollection of that marvelous accident. You were trying to dodge the ball, weren't you, Sile? You just shut your blinkers and ducked, and Pitkins' inshoot carromed off the bat over into right field and got lost in the grass. If we all hadn't yelled for you to run, you'd be standing there now, wondering what had happened."
"Yeou're another," flung back Crane. "I made a clean three-sacker, and yeou know it."
"Well, anyhow, you got anchored on third and failed to come home when I bunted on a signal for the squeeze. The Clearporters had barrels of fun with you over that. I remember Barney Carney asking you if you'd brought your bed."
"Oh, rats!" rasped Crane, striding toward the open gym door and carrying his pet bat. "Some parts of your memory ought to be amputated."
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