“Will he do?”
“I think so, but don’t say anything.”
The morning of the game the Darewell nine assembled before school, on the campus and indulged in some fast practice. The contest was to take place on the Preparatory school grounds, and in answer to a general petition Professor McCloud agreed to dismiss all classes an hour earlier that day to enable the journey to be made.
The nine and the substitutes went over in a big stage but the boys and girls who were to be spectators took trolley cars that ran close to the grounds.
“They’re a husky looking lot,” observed Bart as the stage dropped its load close to the diamond, and he observed the other nine on the field. “They play fast, snappy ball, and we’ve got our work cut out for us.”
The Darewell team soon got into practice, their methods being closely watched by their rivals. Captain Benson, of the other club, greeted Bart, and the preliminaries were soon arranged.
“Play ball!” called the umpire, and the game was on.
The visitors had won the toss for innings, and in consequence Lem had to open the struggle. The first ball he pitched went wild, and the next one struck the batter, giving him his base.
“Rotten!” whispered Lem to himself, disgustedly.
“Take it easy,” advised Bart, walking out to the pitcher’s box. “Keep cool.”