Franklin’s team was made up mainly of old players. The battery, however, was new to Fardale, Westcott, the pitcher, being a handsome, ruddy-cheeked fellow, with dark eyes and wavy hair. The two teams lined up as follows:

Franklin.Fardale.
Dustan, rf.Darrell, 2d b.
Gibbs, 3d b.Black, lf.
Gannon, rf.Flint, rf.
Madison, 1st b.Gardner, ss.
Jarley, ss.Bradley, 3d b.
Knealy, cf.Jolliby, cf.
Tipton, 2d b.Singleton, 1st b.
Dickson, c.Buckhart, c.
Westcott, p.Merriwell, p.

The time for the game to be called came, and the umpire walked onto the field. Franklin went first to bat, and the home team trotted into their positions.

Just as the game was about to begin a jolly-faced chap in a new golf suit, closely followed by a hunchback boy, came onto the ground, and, regardless of restrictions, proceeded directly to the bench of the home team. Springing onto this bench, he stood upright and cried:

“I will wager eleventeen thousand dollars on the home team!”

Immediately one of the ground officials hastened toward him and notified him that he would have to retire from that bench and take his seat on the bleachers.

“What, me?” exclaimed the chap in a golf suit. “You can’t mean me! Haven’t you made a mistake? I am Cap’n Wiley, and Richard Merriwell is an old side partner of mine.”

Immediately Dick called to the official and told him to let the sailor and his companion remain on the bench.

Standing with his hands on his hips, Brad Buckhart surveyed Wiley and Abe with unspeakable astonishment.

“Is this yere a dream?” he exclaimed. “Or do my eyes behold the only and original marine marvel?”