Gardiner’s face glowed with pleasure as he shook the Texan’s hand.
“I’ve seen Mr. Buckhart before,” he said quickly; “and I’m very happy to meet you all. You have no idea, Mr. Merriwell, how much I’ll appreciate your coming out and coaching us.”
“Better wait until you’ve seen how I can coach before you thank me,” Dick smiled. “Won’t you bring your friends over and lunch with us? There’s room enough at this table, and we can get some more chairs.”
“Thank you very much, but we’ve just finished,” Gardiner said. “I know they’d be awfully pleased, though, to sit here while you eat yours.”
He went back to his own table and returned with the two men, whom he introduced as Ralph Maxwell and Stanley Garrick. The former played shortstop on the nine and was short and wiry, with red hair and freckles. He was not unlike Tucker in looks and manner, and the two took to each other at once. Garrick, who played second, was tall and rather ungainly, with a noticeable deliberation of speech and manner. To the casual observer, he seemed slow and clumsy, but on the diamond he was anything but that.
They were both delighted to meet the Yale men, and, drawing up some chairs, made themselves comfortable while the latter began on the luncheon which had just appeared.
“Who is it you play to-morrow?” Dick asked, as he took up his knife and fork.
“The Mispah team—the mine boys,” exclaimed Gardiner. “They’ve got a crackajack nine this year and have licked everything they’ve been up against, so far. We have a pretty good organization ourselves, and we’ve won every game we’ve played. So you can see that it will be a hard fight from start to finish. If we win, we’ll hold the state championship.”
Dick nodded.
“I see; but how does it come that these mine fellows are so good? They don’t generally amount to much at scientific baseball.”