“You talk as if you meant it,” said the reporter.
“I do,” repeated Dick. “No pitcher can win right along unless he has good backing.”
“Oh, but there are a lot of soreheads who are not playing on your team.”
“I know that, and we’re better off without such fellows. Their jealousies and ambitions make them detrimental to the good of any team they get on.”
“Well, I guess that’s right,” nodded Billings.
“I’d rather have nine men who are not quite so brilliant, but who have the right spirit and the determination to play the game for the glory of their team or college than to have a team made up of stars, every one of whom is looking for his own glory.”
“You’ve got a level head, young fellow,” said Billings. “You’re all right. I’ve been watching you some time. You’re a comer, and I bet my life you’ll get there.”
“I’m sorry you’re a freshman this year. Wish you weren’t barred from varsity baseball. The varsity needs you.”
“I know,” interrupted Billings quickly. “You’d be a great help to the varsity nine. It’s no secret now that we are weak on the slab.”
“Candidates enough, such as they are. Never in my life saw such a swarm of fellows trying to pitch. They’ve been culled out and sifted down to five or six at the present time, but out of what remains there’s not a single steady, cool-headed, reliable man with real talent for pitching. Of course, I don’t want to be quoted, Merriwell. I wouldn’t say this to every one, but it’s a fact.”
“There’s no danger that I’ll repeat it, Billings. It’s a shame.”
“It is a shame!” growled Walter. “Already we’ve been beaten by some of the smaller teams. What will happen to us when we go up against some of the better ones? It makes me sick to think what Harvard is sure to do to us.”
“What’s the matter with Welch for a pitcher?”
“The trouble is right here,” answered Billings, tapping his forehead. “Welch has speed and kinks and all that, but he doesn’t use his head.”
“Well, there’s Swett. Every one seemed to think him a wizard.”
“He’s a spit-ball pitcher, and that’s all you can say about him. He hasn’t another thing but the spit ball, and some days he’s liable to throw that straight up into the air.”
“All he knows anything about is a drop. Give him a hard game, put him up against good batters, and he insists on pitching that drop all the time. Result, a lame arm constantly. He’s been told that he’ll ruin his wing.”