The tension was relaxed somewhat when they reached Denver, where, for the first time, instead of fighting it out between themselves a team picked from both nines was to play the local club.
“Here’s where we get a rest,” sighed Mylert, the burly catcher of the Giant team.
“It will be no trick at all to wipe up the earth with these bushers,” laughed Larry Barrett.
“What we’ll do to them will be a sin and a shame,” agreed “Red” Curry, he of the flaming mop, who was accustomed to play the “sun field” at the Polo Grounds.
“It’s almost a crime to show them up before their home crowd,” chimed in Iredell, the Giant shortstop.
But if the local club was in for a beating, they showed no special trepidation as they came out on the field for practice. If the haughty major leaguers had expected their humble adversaries to roll over and play dead in advance of the game 83 itself, they were certainly doomed to disappointment.
The home team went through its preliminary work in a snappy, finished way that brought frequent applause from the crowds that thronged the stand.
Before the game, Brennan, of the Chicagos, sauntered over to Thorpe, the local manager, who chanced to be an old acquaintance.
“Got a dandy crowd here to-day, Bill,” he said. “We ought to give them a run for their money. Suppose I lend you one of our star pitchers, just to make things more interesting.”
“Thank you, Roger,” Thorpe replied, with a slow smile, “but I think we’re going to make it interesting for you fellows, anyway.”