The batter nailed it for two bags, and two men came home.
Gordon walked out of the box and up to the bench where Old Put was sitting.
"I am sick," he declared.
He looked as if he spoke the truth.
"I thought something was the matter with you," said the manager.

"You're white as a sheet.

It's folly for you to practice while you are in this condition." Gordon put on his sweater and then drew his coat over that.

He wandered off by himself and sat down.
"Hang that fellow Merriwell!" he whispered to himself.

"I never thought he would bother me so much.