"Yet it won't do
everything. Each of us has to be as nearly perfect as possible
in the position that he has to play. That's why we really need
a lot more practice than we've had on the real field."
"The worst of it is" suggested Tom, "that we've got all of the
best players in the school on our regular nine, and the scrub
nine isn't made up of fellows who can really give us any work."
"Don't croak, Dick," begged Dave. "This day is too perfect to
have it spoiled by any calamity howling."
Presently Darrin rolled over on his side once more. Greg took
a peep, became suspicious, and started to hum:
"He was the Sleepiest Boy."
Smack! came a small sod, with which Dave had slyly provided himself
in advance.
"Ugh! Gr-r-r-r!" sputtered young Holmes, leaping to his feet
and spitting out the stuff from his mouth. It was mostly the
grass side of the sod that had struck his teeth, but a little
of the loam had gone in with it.
"Good enough for me, I suppose," grimaced Greg, seating himself
once more when he had cleaned his mouth fairly well. Dave, who
had turned over to grin at Greg, soon rolled back to his old posture
on the grass.
Greg, however, was not disposed to let the matter pass as easily
as the others imagined.
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