The nine boys smiled back. A Scout must be cheerful. But it was hard to smile, very hard, with the clock on the wall striking half past one and Belden nine miles away.
CHAPTER XXIII
LOST: ONE BASEBALL TEAM
In choice seats of the Belden bleachers, opposite first base, sat two men and one girl. Anybody with half an eye could see that the girl was in charge of the party. For instance, every time the gathering fans in the stands chorused the staccato Belden High School yell, she sprang up, like a cheer leader, with her black eyes snapping, and said: "Right back at them now! We'll show them! Ready! One—two—three!" And Mr. Sefton and Mr. Hibbs and Molly Sefton roared defiantly:
"U Rah! U Rah!
U Rah! Yi!
Lakeville! Lakeville!
Lakeville High!"
Out on the diamond, the Belden team practiced in a desultory fashion, keeping one eye on the ball and the other on the gate of the park—which, it may be remarked in passing, was all right so far as the gate was concerned, but not particularly helpful in batting, throwing, or catching. In fact, the nine was displaying a brand of baseball that would have shamed a bunch of kindergartners; and the boys knew it and were consequently irritated. But the fault was not wholly theirs.
The trouble was that even at two-thirty with the stands rapidly filling, with the Belden team warming up, and with the umpire waiting patiently and pretending not to see or hear anything that was going on (as all good umpires must pretend before they slip on their chest protectors and fill the pockets of their navy-blue serge coats with balls and go out behind the pitcher and raise their right hands and yell, "Pla-a-ay ba-a-al!")—with everything and everybody apparently ready for the game that was scheduled to begin half an hour later, the opposing Lakeville players had not yet arrived.