“Isn’t that perfectly lovely!” gurgled Ready. “You have happened along just in time to get into the round-up. In the words of the poet, ‘What, oh, what, is so jolly as the sight of a bosom friend whom you can touch for a beautiful green bank-note?’ I may want to borrow a dollar or ten to-morrow, Carson.”
“When did you gind this fang—I mean, find this gang?” asked Rattleton of Frank.
“Swiftwing, Crowfoot, and Carson happened along,” Merry explained. “It’s dead lucky for us, as we have been challenged by the Denver Reds to play ball, and we were two men short.”
Rattleton had met Swiftwing, and he shook hands with the young Indian, while Ready was chattering away to Carson. Then he grasped the hand of the young college man.
Soon the door opened to admit Gamp, Browning, and Carker, who, of course, were equally surprised.
“Gug-gug-gashfry!” laughed the New Hampshire youth. “This is just like old tut-tut-times!”
“Trouble! trouble!” murmured Browning wearily. “I scent baseball in the air, and that means my finish. I’ll melt and run into a grease-spot during this hot weather.”
“Baseball, at best,” said Carker, “is a rather cruel sport in many ways. It is the triumph of the weak over the strong, which is a sad thing to contemplate under any circumstances.”
“Hush!” said Merriwell, lifting his hand. “Be still, everybody!”
They obeyed, and, after a moment, Rattleton asked: