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“Well, if he’s like that I shouldn’t expect him to play anything as rough and rude as baseball,” said Joe.

“No, would you? And yet he does. And he plays football, too, which is a degree and a half rougher and ruder. As a matter of fact, Joe, Handsome Frank is a corking good first baseman, and no slouch of a tackle. He’s the fellow you’ll have to fight hardest for first, if you’ve set your heart on that position.”

“I haven’t. I’d be a silly chump to. I don’t believe I play well enough to get a show with the Second Team.”

“Two more orders of piffle, and have them hot! Don’t assume that attitude, Joey. Don’t tell folks you’re no good. They might believe you. I’ve noticed folks are more likely to believe you when you tell them you’re rotten than when you crack yourself up. You keep a still mouth, old chap, and if anyone says ‘What was your batting average last year, Mr. Faulkner?’ or ‘What was your fielding average?’ you dust a speck off your sleeve and look ’em square in the eye and say, careless-like, ‘I batted for three-twenty-seven and fielded for a little over four hundred!’ They won’t believe you, but they’ll think ‘If he can lie as well as that he must play a pretty good game of ball!’”