“The cohorts of Tuckerton!” cried Cap. “Here they come!”
Several big stages swung into view, laden down with students and girls, for the boys had brought a lot of their young lady friends to see the game.
The vehicles were gay with colors—flags and banners waved from canes and long staffs. Horns adorned with the hues of Tuckerton were waved and blown. Then came more songs, more cheers, more wild yells, and more rioting of colors, as the banners, flags, ribbons and streamers were shaken at the crowds of Westfield students who poured out and greeted their rivals.
As the stage loads of spectators drew up and were emptied, another carryall swept along the road. It contained the opposing nine, and in grim silence, like gladiators coming to the battle, they alighted.
“Three cheers for the best nine in the league!” called the leader of the Tuckerton cohorts, and the yells came in quick response.
“Now three cheers for the second beet nine—the one we’re going to wallop—Westfield!” called the same youth who was almost hidden behind a big bow of his school colors.
Westfield was appropriately serenaded, and then they returned the compliment. The grand stands and bleachers were now beginning to fill, for a game of baseball between these two schools was worth coming a long distance to see.
“Gee! what a lot of pretty girls!” exclaimed Pete as he stood with his brothers near home plate after some sharp warm-up practice.
“You let the girls alone—until after the game,” advised Cap.
“There is a big crowd,” remarked Bill.