At a quarter to three the local players, with Cameron leading them, appeared. Instantly there was a great uproar from the toughs of the town who had been supporting Cameron. They rose up and yelled like a lot of Indians. Not only that, but they insisted that every one else should yell and threatened those who did not.
“Them’s our boys!” they cried. “Cheer, you duffers—cheer!”
If any one declined to cheer he suddenly found himself beaten over the head by two or three of the toughs, who insisted that he must “open up,” and this came near causing a general riot.
Not for at least five minutes after the arrival of the Cartersville team did the commotion cease. Even then there were symptoms of anger and resentment in a number of places amid the crowd, and it seemed as if a spark might fire the powder and bring about an explosion.
Frank called his players from the field, and the home team went out for practice.
Merry found an opportunity to speak with Cameron, but the local manager insisted on his privilege of choosing innings, declining to toss a coin for choice.
“All right,” smiled Frank. “Take your choice.”
Imagine his surprise when Cameron said:
“We’ll go to bat first.”
“Suit yourself,” nodded Frank, with pretended disappointment.