bureaus their choicest possessions against the prospective raid. It was close to the supper hour and they did not have much time.
"No, Langridge doesn't run everything," answered Sid. "He's manager, that's all."
"That seems a lot."
"Well, it is in a way, though it's only because he has plenty of cash and isn't afraid to spend it. But he couldn't be elected captain. He tried, but was defeated his first term, though he made the managership."
"Who is captain?"
"Bricktop Molloy was last year, but this season we're going to have a new one. I guess Dan Woodhouse stands as good a show as any one. He's a senior and a fine player."
"Woodhouse—that's an odd name."
"Yes, we call him Kindlings for short. I'm going to vote for him."
"So will I then; I'll depend on your say-so."
"I fancy you threw a scare into Langridge," went on Sid as he carefully slid under a mat at the edge of the bed a picture of a football game.
"How so?"
"Telling him you wanted to try for pitcher. It was like stepping on his corns. He thinks he's got a cinch on that position. Always has ever since he helped win a game last year."
"Has he?"
