“Didn’t win!” interrupted the other. “Say, Jerry, what’s got into you? The Cresville team did win!”
“Oh, did they? That’s funny! I guess I didn’t pay much attention toward the last.”
“No, and not toward the beginning, either, I guess,” grumbled the stout lad. “I wonder what’s gotten into him,” he thought.
“So they won; did they, Bob?” asked the lad addressed as Jerry. “Well, I’m glad of it.”
“Of course they won, Jerry Hopkins,” was the quick answer. “And this practically clinches the local championship for them, too. It was a corking good game; wasn’t it, Ned?”
“Now you’re talking! A good crowd, too,” and Ned Slade looked at the throng pouring down from grandstand and bleachers.
“What shall we do?” asked Bob Baker, the stout lad before referred to. “I vote not to go home just yet. It’s early. Let’s take a little spin down the road.”
“All right,” agreed Ned. “Shall we, Jerry?”
“Eh? Oh, yes, I’m in for whatever you fellows say. It’ll be nice on the river to-day.”
“River! Who said anything about the river?” demanded Ned. “Do you think we came to this ball game in our motor boat, Jerry Hopkins? Say, what’s the matter with you to-day, anyhow? We’re talking about taking a spin in the auto. Will you come along?”