“Thanks. Crimps! but I’ve got to hustle. I was showing Whistle-Breeches how to mend a rip in his stocking. He was for tying a string around it as if it was a bag he was closing up. Well, we’ll soon be slaughtering—or slaughtered; eh?”
“Yes, how about you?”
“Fit as a fiddle. I wish I had to pitch the whole game.”
“Maybe you won’t after you see the way they knock you out. They’ve got some hard hitters.”
“I’m not worrying. Is Cap on the job?”
“Yes, we’re all ready. What are you waiting for?”
“Just got to put a few more stitches in this jacket. I’ll be right over. Go ahead.”
“No, we’ll wait for you,” and Pete took a chair in his brother’s room. He was thinking of Bondy’s visit but he made up his mind to say nothing about it at present. After all he might be wrong in his suspicion, but he resolved to keep a sharp lookout.
Soon Bill had finished his sewing task, and went out with his brother. Cap joined them, and a little later they were on the diamond, indulging in some light practice.
Down the road came the sound of songs and cheers, mingled with indiscriminate yells. Then came the blast of horns.