Blanchard might be more approachable than either of those fellows. He said to him,—
"We’ve got a Fourth Form baseball nine that we think is pretty good, and we’d like to challenge the Sixth Form to a game next Saturday. Do you think you could get up a nine and play us?”
"I don’t see why not,” Blanchard replied. "It ought to be good sport. I'll ask Jim Payne and Fred Bell about it; they’re our baseball stars. How does it come that you’re one? That’s one thing your brother never did, is n’t it?”
"Oh, Charley plays a little. But he never was very good at it. In the summer he sails and plays tennis—and in the spring at St. John’s he rows. So he’s not had much chance to play ball. But I always liked it.”
Blanchard looked at the boy’s eager face and honest eyes with a smile; somehow he found himself liking young Edward Crashaw very much—just as he had always liked Charles Crashaw, even in conflict. But he could not forbear teasing Edward a little.
