"What sort of youngsters?"
"Boys—my pupils at the Hall."
"But I ain't referring to that kind of a team. I mean your regular team—I mean the one you play on."
"Oh, that's different."
"You've got such a team here, ain't ye?"
"As you see, a lot of my friends are visiting here just now. I can't say that we have a regular organized team."
"They told us in Wellsburg you had, and that's why I took the trouble to come here. I'm manager of the Rovers, the strongest independent team of this country. We're making a tour by automobile and playing the best teams we can get up against. I have a big seven-seated car at Wellsburg, and that machine, together with this one, carries my men from place to place. We made arrangements to play Wellsburg to-day and to-morrow. We were to have a guarantee of three hundred dollars and sixty per cent. of the gate receipts. When we gut into Wellsburg last night we found that the team had disbanded and the manager skipped out. That leaves us without a game to-day and to-morrow. We're looking for a game. This is Mike McCann, captain of my team."
The young Irishman nodded and touched his cap brim.
"Go on," invited Merriwell.
"I've always had a desire to meet you," continued Bearover. "You have a big reputation as a baseball man. I'd like to play you in Wellsburg for a purse."