“This is Thursday,” he said finally. “If we say a week from to-day for the game we will have five days for practice. Would that be sufficient, Andy?”
Mr. Gifford thought it would.
“Very well, then. I’ll write Scovill to-morrow that we’ll be with him next Thursday loaded for bear. We’ll stay at his camp Thursday night and start the hike the next day. To-morrow we’ll get the map and work it out. I’ll leave the matter of forming the team to you, Andy. But you and Steve and Sam had better count on playing, I think. I dare say they’ve got a pretty good team up there and we don’t want them to beat us too badly.”
“With five afternoons of practice,” replied Mr. Gifford confidently, “we can turn out a nine that will put the ‘acid’ in ‘Placid’!”
And above the laughter Mr. Haskins was heard soberly and earnestly agreeing.
[CHAPTER XI]
MAKING THE NINE
Busy days followed. The Wigwam fixed its mind on the following Thursday and laboured enthusiastically. On the morning after Mr. Langham’s announcement Mr. Gifford, Sam, and Steve walked up the slope to what was known as the Pulpit Tree, a big beech, under whose far-spreading branches divine service was held on Sundays when the weather permitted. There, sitting cross-legged on the ground, they held council over the making of the baseball team that was to represent the camp.