“With pleasure. What team do you represent?”
“He’ll want to back out when you tell him,” laughed Wilder, with a sneering expression.
“Tut! tut!” came from Ready. “He won’t care a sour clam what old team the gentleman represents. The warmer the team the better it will suit Mr. Merriwell. Are we going against National Leaguers?”
“I am the manager of the Philadelphia Athletic team,” said Robinson proudly. “It happens that we have an open date to-morrow. Of course, we’ll find no trouble in defeating your team, Merriwell; but there seems to be a foolish impression here that your picked nine of college chaps must be much faster than it possibly can be, and several sporting men in town have hinted that you could give us a hard rub. One man offered to bet me even money that you could hold the Athletics down to five scores, or less. Now, that is perfectly ridiculous. Seeing by the papers that you had struck town and were stopping here, I decided to look you up and find out if you had sand enough to give us a game to-morrow. Mr. Wilder knows you by sight, and that is why I brought him along. He pointed you out to me.”
“Well, I am glad you took the trouble,” said Frank. “I was beginning to fear that this city would not provide us with amusement. What terms are you willing to play on?”
“Winning team takes all the gate-money.”
“That is agreeable; but you are to do all the advertising and provide balls and grounds.”
“We’ll play on the Athletic grounds, and I will look out for everything. All you have to do is to be on hand to begin playing at half-past three to-morrow. Can I depend on you?”
“You may.”
“You’ll not lose your nerve and back out?”