Hasbrook was an old friend of Dick Merriwell’s, and when the two sophomores found the universal coach they learned that he already knew their errand. He seemed a little doubtful.
“I think the game would do you both lots of good,” he said. “This Boston team is made up altogether of old Harvard varsity men, and they’ve been playing baseball on a system at Cambridge for fifteen years. When you play one Harvard team, you know them all. That’s one reason I was willing to consider this matter. But I’d rather have had the game come at least a week before the big match. I’m only afraid you’ll overdo things, Jim.”
“I won’t let him work himself to death, Mr. Merriwell,” promised Brady. “He’ll do just what I signal him, you know, and I’ll see that he saves his arm. We don’t have to take chances in this game, because it doesn’t really matter whether we win or not. If we can win, without hurting ourselves, why we’d like to do it, of course. But every one will understand that we can’t take chances for the country club when we’ve got to play for Yale against Harvard. Even Hasbrook and the others out at the club wouldn’t like that. They’d rather lose themselves than see Yale licked, if it came to a choice.”
“All right, then,” said Dick. “I’ll give my consent—on one condition. If you feel tired during the game, Jim, and as if you were putting any sort of a strain on your arm, you’ve got to promise to make Hasbrook take you out, no matter what the score is. And I count on you, too, Brady. If you see that Jim is hurting himself, you’ve got to see that he gets out of the game. You may be able to tell better than he can himself. I’d be at the game, but I’ve got some important business to attend to in New York, and it won’t be possible for me to get there. That’s why I’m hesitating so much. Winston can go out to the game with you, and if Jim has to go out, he can take his place. I think he’d do better than Hasbrook expects, too. He’s improved a lot since the beginning of the season, and I’ve seen a lot of college teams that would be glad to have him.”
“I guess that’s right,” said Brady. “But then any man who knows how to curve a ball at all would turn into a good pitcher with you to coach him, Mr. Merriwell.”
The news of Merriwell’s permission to the two sophomore stars to form the battery for the country club against the famous amateur team from Boston, caused great excitement. The country club members were overjoyed. They saw a chance to get revenge for the defeats of the last few years. With quiet confidence, they made up a purse and sent it posthaste to Boston, to be bet on their team, with its powerful reënforcements. The newspapers printed the story. And from Cambridge came rumors that every effort was being made to induce the Harvard coach to allow Briggs to pitch for the Bostonians.
Dick Merriwell shook his head when he heard that.
“I hope he won’t,” he said. “If I’d thought there was any chance that Briggs would pitch for them, I wouldn’t have consented to let Jim go in. It would be too much like letting the Yale-Harvard game be played ahead of time.”
But those rumors were speedily set at rest. There was no chance for Briggs to play, and, moreover, as the Boston men saw it, they needed no undergraduate pitcher to give them the victory. For Hobson, the famous Hobson, who had pitched Harvard to a championship in three successive years while he was still in college, was back in America from a trip abroad, and in the very pink of condition for any sort of a game. And he had been promptly drafted by his old club.
“Now you will have your work cut out for you, Jim,” said Dick Merriwell, with a smile. “I know Hobson well, of old, and if you beat him, you certainly need have no fear of Briggs or any one else that’s in college now. Also, if he beats you, you needn’t feel disgraced. You know his record, of course.”