Gold Hill was well represented, and more than half of the grand stand was occupied by stanch supporters of the rival team. Gold Hill and Ophir did a lot of friendly joshing back and forth, and the yells and cheers rang in Frank’s ears as he got out of the car and hurried to the dressing room in the gym.
All the rest of the men who were to play with the Ophir team, or to sit on the benches as substitutes, were clad in their uniforms, and were waiting for Frank and those with him to arrive. They were greeted warmly, and Blunt slapped the backstop on the shoulder as he passed him with his dingy old suit case.
“We’re expecting great things of you, you old greaser wonder!” exclaimed the cowboy.
“That’s what, Joe!” seconded Handy.
“And you’re not going to disappoint us,” added Reckless. “I know that just as well as I know that I’m alive.”
The catcher’s reply was a wide smile, but not a word. As he passed on and vanished into the dressing room, Merriwell also smiled—but it was a smile of another sort.
While Merry was getting into his baseball togs, a din of frenzied cheering was borne to him from the grand stand and bleachers. He knew, from the mere volume of sound, that the Gold Hill team had appeared from their dressing rooms under the grand stand, and had scattered over the diamond to warm up.
A few moments later, Merry stepped out among his players, gathered them around him, and calmly scrutinized their flushed and eager faces.
“We’ve had two days of practice, fellows,” said he, “and we’re going up against a team that has been in harness for weeks. But don’t let that bother you. It’s the spirit you put into your work that counts. Be on your toes every minute. Come on!”
He flung open the gym door, bounded through it, and started at a trot toward the ball field. The backstop was at his side, and close at his heels trailed Clancy and Ballard. After them came the rest of the team.