News of the game had traveled like wildfire over the cattle ranges and the mining districts. Young Merriwell had been pretty much in everybody’s eye during the time he had sojourned in Arizona, and much of the outpouring was due to a desire to see the lad who had proved himself such a worthy chip off the old block.
As a sporting event, the baseball game promised to be Merry’s farewell performance. This, in itself, was a powerful lure in gathering the crowds.
As early as one o’clock the movement set in from Ophir toward the clubhouse and the athletic field. The game was not called until three, but the eagerness of the people to secure good seats led them to make an early start for the grounds.
“There’ll be some crowd on hand to see us land on the Gold Hillers, Chip,” remarked Clancy, as they stood on the hotel veranda and watched the flow of people along the main street of the town.
“Or to see the Gold Hillers land on us,” Frank laughed.
“Not at all, not at all,” insisted the red-headed chap. “It would be too awful if we got stung at this athletic game just before we shook the Arizona dust from our brogans for good. Here, where we have been consistently victorious, we must wind up our activities with a success that will eclipse all the others. Victory shall perch on the Ophir banners, to the end that finis coronat opus may be justly exemplified. I repeat, friends and fellow citizens, that——”
“Choke off that old windjammer, Chip!” begged Ballard, coming out on the veranda at that moment with his suit case. “He’s got a notion that he’s making a public speech.”
“I’ve got other notions, Pink, if it comes to that,” said Clancy, giving his chum a look of intense disapproval. “One of them is that you’re little Billy Buttinski, and spoil many a good thing because you’re jealous.”
“Jealous—of you? Why, you red-headed snipe——”
“Tut, tut!” interposed Clancy, waving his hand restrainingly, “men have been shot for less than that. But don’t push me too far, Pink, don’t push me too far.”