“Now for the race to the finish!” exclaimed Merriwell. “It will be good and hot!”
No wonder the Fairhaven crowd was enthusiastic and delighted.
Bart Hodge was the hero of the day. Still wearing his ragged clothes, he marched at Dick’s side with the ball players, his dark eyes gleaming and a smile on his face.
“Frank will enjoy the letter I’ll write him,” he declared. “I’ll tell him how his plan worked. I didn’t think I could fool you, Dick. It wasn’t so difficult last night, for we met in the dark and you could not get a good look at me. To-day you were somewhat excited and wrought up over the game, which kept you from inspecting me closely.”
“I thought you acted mighty queer,” laughed Dick. “You kept that old hat on all the time and had it pulled down over your eyes. Besides that, you seemed disinclined to talk with me after we agreed on the signals we would use. Whenever I spoke you turned your head away and did not answer. Besides, I never dreamed of seeing Bart Hodge in rags and with his face and hands dirt-begrimed.”
“It’s good, clean dirt, Dick,” retorted Hodge. “Still I confess I’m rather anxious to wash it off now. Hear that big chap whoop! He nearly broke his neck by falling off the bleachers when you struck out the last Rockford batter.”
“That’s McLane,” said Dick. “He’s one of our most enthusiastic supporters.”
The big lobsterman was marching down the street, waving his hat in the air and occasionally letting out a yell that sounded like a steam calliope.
In the island crowd was Grace Garrett. Without attracting the attention of his companions, Earl Gardner dropped back and walked at Grace’s side.
“Oh, I’m so glad you won the game to-day, Earl!” she exclaimed, placing her hand on his arm.