The colonel was taken into camp with every expression of good will. Not one in the Ophir crowd had any fault to find with the big man from Gold Hill. For years he had tried his utmost to smooth out the differences between the rival clubs, but had found a mysterious influence working against him and upsetting all his plans. He had not the remotest idea that Jode Lenning was back of this evil influence, but had he given some attention to Jode he might have succeeded long before in bringing affairs of the two clubs to a more amiable basis.
When two o’clock came, ten Gold Hill men came trotting into the camp on the flat, Jode Lenning at their head. The colonel, after greeting Jode, passed his eye over the fellows behind him.
“Only ten!” he exclaimed. “What does this mean, my boy?”
“Parkman was late in starting,” Jode answered, “and we didn’t wait for him. He’ll be along soon.”
“Where’s Bleeker?”
“He has a grouch of some kind, colonel, and wouldn’t come.” Lenning laughed good-naturedly. “He’ll get over it, though,” he added. “You know how Bleek is!”
“I know he’s one of the best men on the team,” the colonel remarked, “and that you’re handicapped without him. You haven’t any substitutes.”
“We’re not going to need any, with this bunch.”
There was lofty contempt in Lenning’s voice. Here, at the very start of the new schedule of friendly rivalry, Lenning was giving vent to the spirit that had done so much to put rival athletic affairs in a bad way.
“Tut, tut!” said the colonel, with a look of annoyance, “these Ophir fellows are as fine a lot of players as I’ve ever seen, and we’ll find that we’re up against a pretty stiff proposition.”