“Easy frightened, easy frightened,” grunted Wally Weaver, the Indian. “When they play too well, then jump in and scare them. That’s easy.”
“Look here, you chaps,” said Tunk Moran, who had made a great reputation on the Springfield, Illinois, team, but had been fired for drinking, “I happen to know something about Frank Merriwell, and you’re off your trolley if you think you’re going to win from him by scaring him. If you beat that chap you’ll have to play baseball, and don’t you forget it.”
The others laughed at this and ridiculed Moran.
“All right,” he growled. “Just you wait until after the game and see if you don’t agree with me.”
The appearance of Cameron’s team in suits when they left the hotel to march to the ball ground was the signal for a great demonstration on the part of the youngsters of Cartersville, who were waiting to escort them. The cheering brought a number of the Merries to windows to look out, and they saw their opponents-to-be set off down the street, followed by the admiring crowd.
“Behold the gladiators whom we are to meet in the arena!” cried Jack Ready.
“They’re a hot bunch of old-stagers,” grunted Browning.
“It will keep us busy to cool them off,” said Frank. “Don’t get the idea that they are has beens. Half of them could play on fast league teams if they were not crooked and rebellious. They will go after us savage, with the idea of taking the sand out of us at the very start.”
“On the other hand,” said Rattleton, “if we get a start on them early in the game all the hoodlums will be against us and we’ll be in danger of the mob.”
“I have thought about that,” declared Frank. “I have a plan. Come, fellows, and we’ll talk it over.”