The North High campus was crowded with merry boys and girls. Those who were from the South High waved bright red pennants, and those from the North High had equally bright yellow ones. Every time one of the ball-players appeared, his particular class-mates gave their yell and cheered him until he disappeared again.
“The Souths are making a great to-do,” Everett said scornfully. “As though they had a ghost of a chance of winning! Not they, with our Eric Brownley on the diamond. Now, here come the players, and when you see Eric, yell like good ones.”
The girls stood on tiptoe and watched for Eric as eagerly as did the boys. The players were taking their places and yet Eric did not appear.
“Great guns!” Everett cried in dismay. “There’s Dorset, Eric’s sub! What’s he pitching for, I wonder? Say, you wait here till I find out.”
Everett, with a heavy heart, made his way through the crowd to the diamond. One of the players gave the information that he sought, and Everett returned to his friends, looking anything but cheerful.
“It’s all up,” he said dismally. “The game is as good as lost. I’ve a mind to go home.”
“Why, Everett,” Madge asked. “What has happened?”
“Oh, that old lumberman down at Bear Lake was hurt or something, and they sent for Eric two days ago, and he said that if he possibly could, he’d be back for the big game, but he didn’t make it. Imagine anything keeping a fellow from playing this game when he’s bound to be the victor.”
“I felt sure that Eric Brownley was a fine lad,” Madge declared warmly, “and now I know that he is.”
The game had commenced and the North High was decidedly getting the worst of it. They were not even playing their best; they were all disheartened because Eric had failed them.