“He doesn’t seem to be very fair-minded, for a fact,” agreed Merry. “But it’s a bad plan to worry over what hasn’t happened, Billy. Just forget about financial troubles, and enjoy your swim.”
It would have been hard for the most hardened pessimist _not_ to have enjoyed that plunge into the cool, quiet old river, whose waters were backed up for half a mile by the dam below, forming an ideal swimming pond. The warm air was fresh with the breath of fruit blossoms, for Carsonville was in the fruit belt, and surrounded by orchards.
After twenty minutes of vigorous exercise, the three friends pulled themselves out on the grassy bank and enjoyed a sun bath.
Somewhat to his surprise, Chip Merriwell found that Chub Newton was older than he appeared, and was an expert swimmer. Also, he had no high opinion of the autocrats of his native town.
“I hope the Cl-l-lippers get l-l-lambasted good and proper this year,” he announced pleasantly. “Bul-ly Carson has the worst case o’ swel-l-led bean you ever saw!”
“He looks like it,” said Chip, stretching out lazily. “Can he pitch?”
Chub Newton snorted disgustedly, but Billy spoke up.
“Sure he can pitch, Chip. Chub has a private grouch on, that’s all. Bully isn’t any great favorite off the diamond, but he has the knack of tossing the ball, all right.”
“Yah!” sniffed Chub. “He’s got l-l-luck with him.”
“That’s what he said about Billy,” said Merriwell. “What’s your private grievance against the colonel’s son?”
“Why, I wanted to pl-l-lay on the Cl-l-lippers,” bubbled the little chap. Every time he struck the letter “l” his tongue seemed unwilling to let go of it. “I tried out with ’em and made good. Then a bunch o’ city fel-l-lers come out here and got jobs whil-le they pl-l-layed bal-l-l. They done me, al-l-l right, and three or four other fel-l-lers, too. I was too short to pl-l-lay third, and one o’ them guys was a swel-l-l shortstop. That l-let me out. L-l-lot o’ folks think that Colonel Carson ought to ’a’ favored home pl-l-layers.”
“I don’t know about that,” said Merry thoughtfully. “Of course, sentiment can’t enter into ball games that way, Chub. If the odds were about even, though, he might have done so, I should think. Those city chaps aren’t ringers, are they?”