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“Well, if you’re going to prove things I shan’t argue,” sighed Jack. “It’s no fun arguing when the other fellow insists on proving he’s right. It—it puts you at a disadvantage. Anyway, all that’s got nothing to do with what we were talking about. You said you wished you could do something. I say you can play baseball. That’s something, isn’t it? I’d rather make the nine than the hockey team any day.”

“You’ve made both,” replied Joe disconsolately. “I don’t believe I’ll ever make anything.”

“A couple of piffles! In two months you’ll be holding down first or second base. I wish you’d beat out Frank Foley for first, Joe. If you’ll do that I’ll present you with anything I own. I’ll give you an order on dad for a diamond sun-burst or a chest of silver. Mind, I don’t say you’d get the things; but I’ll give you the order.”

“Who’s Frank Foley?” asked Joe.

“What? You’ve never heard of ‘Handsome Frank’? For the love of lemons, don’t let him hear you, Joey! Why, Frank is our Adonis, our Beau Brummel, our—our——”