“Wait! Wait!” begged Bill breathlessly, as he ran forward. “I’m in time! I can play. Where’s Armitage? I’ve been locked up—couldn’t get here before! Can’t I play?”
A cheer greeted Bill’s unexpected appearance. His brothers who had given up hope rushed forward to clap him on the back. Whistle-Breeches did a war dance around him. There was wild rejoicing among the Westfield Freshmen. The Tuckerton Freshmen looked glum.
“Well, he got here after all,” muttered Swain, the pitcher, to Captain Borden.
“Yes. That farmer must have let him go before I meant him to.”
“What are you going to do—protest again?” asked Cadmus.
“No; what’s the use? I think they’re suspicious as it is. All we can do now is to play to beat ’em. Hang the luck anyhow, but—I s’pose it serves us right.” Borden had the grace to admit that much.
Meanwhile Bill had rapidly told the story of his captivity and his ride in the auto.
“I tell you what we ought to do!” declared Armitage angrily, “we ought to refuse to play them, and claim the game. The idea of kidnapping our pitcher!”
“Easy!” exclaimed Cap.
“That’s right,” put in Bill. “I wasn’t hurt any, and it was rather a lark after I got away. Besides we don’t know for sure that Borden and his crowd did it, though I’m almost positive it was his auto. But never mind. Let’s play ball.”