As the Rivermouth boys poured through the gate, and the visitors marched onto the diamond, Fardale received them with a welcoming cheer.
Little time was wasted. The visitors took the field for practice, and went at it in a sharp and snapping manner, which seemed to denote what they could do. Their supporters packed in a solid mass on the side reserved for them, and cheered the clever plays made by the practicing boys.
“Well, what do you think, pard?” asked Buckhart, as Dick stood watching the enemy.
“They’re overconfident,” declared Merriwell in a low tone. “It may be the cause of their defeat. If we get down to business at the very start and fight hard we may take some of the assurance out of them.”
“How’s your side?”
“Oh, it’s still lame; but I find I can pitch with my left hand without straining it. I am going to see what I can do that way.”
“Great tarantulas!” gasped Buckhart. “Why, do you know that Peterson, a left-hander, pitched against them Monday, and they biffed him for eleven clean hits? You know how hard it was for us to hit him. Well, they found him pie.”
“All the same,” said Dick in the same quiet manner, “I shall begin with my left hand, and use it as long as possible. When I am compelled to do so, to save the game, I may use my right.”
Ted Smart left the seats and came out to Dick.
“Say! Guess!” chirped the little fellow. “Arlington feels sure you will win, doesn’t he?”