“Who’s that scrubby runt playin’ short?” cried Ironton, waving his fists. “Wait till I land on him!”
“I’l-l-l show you!” chirped Newton angrily. “Wait til-l-l——”
“Listen to him!” cried Ironton. “Wow! He talks like a washing machine!”
Even the crowd laughed at that, for every one knew Chub. The little fellow lost his temper, and sent the ball far over third.
“They’re easy,” commented Bully, in contempt. “We got their goat already. You watch when that Merriwell gets up to the plate. I’ll lam him in the head.”
“You’d better try it!” retorted Clancy heatedly. Merry signed to him to walk up toward the box, with Chub.
“You fellows keep quiet,” he said. “Pass the word around not to give any back talk unnecessarily. First thing we know, this will be a free-for-all, and we have to avoid that if possible.”
The Clippings tried to restrain themselves, but it was hard work for them to keep from answering the taunts that poured in from Bully Carson’s men. At length, Frank signed to his team, and they trotted in. The Clippers spread out on the field, and began to amuse themselves with threats of what they would do to their opponents, while they tossed the ball around.
In Colonel Carson’s private box, square in the center of the grand stand, sat the colonel and his new acquaintance, John Smith. The latter had accepted the proffered seat gratefully, though he refused the proffered stogies, pleading that his health did not permit smoking.
As the Clippings came in to their bench, they looked up and saw the stranger.