McGann laughed.
“We wouldn’t think of letting Merriwell’s team defeat us,” he said. “We shall take extra precautions. Every man will be in the best condition possible, Mat O’Neill will pitch, and we’ll try to shut the mighty Merriwell bunch out.”
“You’ll succeed!” exclaimed Bart Hodge; “I don’t think!”
“You may think,” chuckled McGann. “Wait until after the game. Why, you don’t know what you are going up against.”
“By the way, Merriwell,” said Grafter, placing a hand on Frank’s arm, “have you seen anything of Hobe Manton lately?”
“I haven’t seen him since the day of the meet at Eagle Heights.”
“I have. Ran across him yesterday by accident. He stopped to speak with me, although I fancy he dislikes me now almost as much as he does you. He’s a dangerous chap, and you want to keep your eyes open for him.”
“Why, I fancied he was pretty well cooled down.”
“Not at all; he’s pretty well warmed up. He hasn’t forgotten that he, the great ‘gentleman pugilist,’ was soundly thrashed by you out behind the cedars at Eagle Heights. And that is why he is determined to get even with you some time. He stopped me yesterday to tell me that he was going to square up the score. He said he had been keeping track of your movements, and he meant to catch you alone and off your guard. You want to be careful, Merriwell. There is no telling what he may try to do.”
“Oh, I think he’s not nearly as dangerous as he would have people believe.”