"Skinny," chose Dicky next;

"Froggy Waters," chose Fatty--and poor little Marmaduke was left to
the last, as if he were the worst player in the whole world.

"Well," said Dicky, "I spouse I've _got_ to take him. But he'll
lose the game for us."

He turned to Marmaduke.

"I'll tell you what, Marmy," he said, "you can be the spectators--a
whole pile of them--in the grand stand. Wouldn't you like to be a
grand stand? That's great. Isn't it, fellows?"

"Sure," they all said, grinning, but Marmaduke didn't want to be any
spectator, not even a grand stand. He wanted to be doing things, not
watching. Lose that game, would he? No, he'd show them, he'd win it
instead. He'd hit that ball clean over the fence--so far they'd never
find it. But whew! That wouldn't do. He'd better not hit it quite so
far or he'd lose his dandy Rocket ball.

But they had to give in and let him play before he would give them
that ball. Then the two captains told their men to take their
positions.

"I'll pitch," declared Dicky, "'n Reddy'll catch. Skinny you play
'first,' and Marmaduke out in the field. You kin go to sleep, too, for
all I care--for you can't catch anything even if you had a peach
basket to hold it in."