The spectacle which met Rollo’s gaze was indeed an imposing one. Round about the great arena stretched thousands of people, tier upon tier, an unbroken mass rising far above his head.
“They do not look like people,” cried Rollo, “but like the knots on one of Grandmother’s hooked-rugs. But I should like very much to see a baseball game here.”
“And why baseball?” asked Rupert.
“Because,” said Rollo, “it would be interesting to see a tiny pitcher in such a huge bowl.”
“Bravo!” cried Anabelle, and Rupert scowled ill-naturedly.
At this moment a tremendous burst of cheering split the air, several bands began to play at once, and the great multitude rose to its feet shouting and waving their flags, as two groups of strange padded creatures pranced into the arena like savage beasts entering the Coliseum at Rome.
A moment later a whistle blew sharply, and an ominous hush fell over the vast assemblage. Although he knew not why, a strange sensation of physical illness almost overpowered Rollo. The game was about to begin.
“Isn’t it wonderful!” cried Stella.
“Is it?” said Rollo in a faint voice.
The contest which followed left our little hero even more dazed and confused. Time after time he shuddered and winced as the two groups of players came crunching together, or when ten or more Princetons fell with a crash upon a single Yale.