"What on earth ails you, Meacham?" demanded the worried captain of the nine.
"I was at a loot party last night," confessed Meacham miserably.
"Overeating yourself—-when you're in training, man?"
"Honestly, Maitland, I didn't believe the little that I put down was going to throw me. There wasn't a murmur until eleven this morning, and I felt sure that was going to work off. But it won't, and, oh, my!"
West Point's shortstop put his hands over his belt line, looking comically miserable. But to Captain Maitland there was no humor in the situation.
"You're a fine one!" growled Maitland. "Oh, Holmesy! Come over here, please. You haven't been teasing your stomach, have you?"
"I don't know that I have a stomach," replied Greg promptly.
"You'll play shortstop today, then."
Half an hour later, the Lehigh fellows were out on the field, going through some practice plays. Below the center of the grandstand, the West Point band was playing its most spirited music. The seats reserved for officers and their families, and for invited guests, were filling up rapidly. At the smaller stand, over at the east side of the field, Lehigh had some two hundred friends and rooters.
Now on to the field marched the corps of cadets, filing into the seats reserved for them, just north of the officers' seats.