That night Ditson and Lynch slept well after drinking to their good luck, which they believed was assured. The following forenoon the Yale men put in some light practice on the field. They waited in vain for the appearance of Buckhart, although Dick remained confident that Brad would show up.
But when the time arrived for the team to dress and proceed to the field Buckhart was still missing. No one seemed more disappointed over this than Bill Bugle, who hung around the boys, and, through Dick’s intercession, was finally given permission to ride to the field on the barge with the players.
“I used to play this yere game some myself,” he announced. “I wonder if you youngsters wouldn’t let me git holt of the ball. I’d like to do some batting for ye when ye practice.”
“We’ll have to take you for a mascot,” said Robinson. “If you can bat for us, we’ll let you do so.”
There was more or less laughter and joshing from the Providence boys as the Yale team marched onto the field with Bugle at the side of Blessed Jones. Every one watched with intense curiosity to see what the man would do when he seized a bat and prepared to take part in the practice. To the surprise of all, he hammered the ball in a scientific manner, driving it wherever he chose and in whatever manner he chose.
But Buckhart was still absent and the Yale players were downcast. They were talking about a substitute catcher when Bugle announced that he was going to do the catching himself. They gave very little heed to this until Tucker called attention to the fact that the Westerner was shedding his garments. The man had stepped out into an open space near the Yale bench where he proceeded to kick off his high-heeled boots, skin his shirt over his head, and snap himself out of his trousers before a hand could be lifted to prevent. These movements produced a most astonishing metamorphosis, for beneath those outer garments Bugle wore the baseball uniform of Yale Uumpty-ten. Not only that, but his whiskers and long hair vanished with the rest of his outfit, and, as he turned toward the bench, Dick Merriwell observed:
“I told you Brad would arrive on time, boys. Here he is.”
The astonishment of the Yale lads was unspeakable, for before them stood Buckhart, smiling and wiping some of the grease paint from his face with a soiled handkerchief.
“Just a little joke,” explained Brad, with a wink. “We’ll talk it over later, fellows. Now let’s get into this game and eat Brown up.”
In the midst of the universal excitement the consternation of the Ditson crowd failed to attract particular attention. As for Lynch and Duncan, both seemed to fancy themselves dreaming. They were aroused by Daggett, who snarled at them: