“We’ve got a tough nut to crack here, old man,” he remarked soberly. “Can the Clippers hit pretty well?”
“That’s their strong suit,” gloomily returned Billy Mac. “They get a pitcher going, and it’s all off with him. They’re pretty ragged when it comes to headwork, but they give Carson mighty good support. Yes, they can certainly hit. Squint Fletcher leads the league.”
“Slugging doesn’t always mean hitting,” said Merry cheerfully. “Brace up, old man! We’ve a day and a half for practice, and we’re going to improve a whole lot.”
“We’ll need to,” muttered Billy. He halted suddenly, staring up at the house just ahead of them. “Hello! There’s a machine standing out in front!”
“Clancy must have come ahead of time!” cried Merry.
The two burst into a run. Reaching the veranda, they found a red-haired young fellow seated in a rocker. He was talking with Mrs. McQuade. At sight of Merriwell, he leaped up and vaulted the railing.
“Hello, Chip!” he cried, wringing Merry’s hand. “Wow! I’m glad to see you!”
“Same here,” returned Chip. “I see you’ve already met Mrs. McQuade, eh?”
“We’re old friends by this time,” said Clancy. “Hello, Billy! I haven’t seen you since last fall. How’s everything?”
“Pretty good,” stated Billy, forgetting his troubles for the moment. “When do we get some eats, mother?”