“I wonder how much that traitor got for giving away his own league,” said Joe, bitterly.
“Probably just enough to fill up his wretched skin with booze,” returned Jim. “Fellows like him come cheap.”
“He won’t get another chance,” put in McRae, angrily. “I’ll have the stands searched to-morrow, and if he’s there he’ll be bundled out neck and heels.”
Once more the hard-won lead of the Giants had vanished into thin air. But they took heart of hope and braced up for the struggle on the morrow. They were to play on their own grounds and Joe would be in the box.
All the members of Joe’s party were boiling over with indignation. If anything they took the defeat harder than the players themselves, who had learned in a hard school to take what was coming to them and brace up for revenge.
“Well, to-morrow’s a new day and what we’ll do to those fellows then will be a caution,” Jim declared philosophically.
Perhaps his cheerful view of things was increased by the fact that Clara had promised to let him take her for a cozy little spin to see Bunker Hill Monument by moonlight. The moon just then was in high favor with these two young people.
It was arranged that the pair need not come back to the hotel, but that Jim could bring Clara directly to the train. Mr. Matson and Reggie would escort the others.
Joe grudged every minute spent away from Mabel and stayed with her as long as he could that evening. But he had promised to drop in on Louis Anderson to see that the arrangement with Fleming had been carried out, and at last he left her reluctantly, promising to see her again on the train if only long enough to say good-night.