Again there came the thrilling notes of the bugle, blown by some one in the stage. Then followed another large vehicle, filled with a throng of cheering lads.
“They’ve brought a crowd along,” commented Sam.
“Yes, maybe they’re depending on rooters to help them win the game.”
“Well, our fellows can root some too,” spoke the pitcher. “I’m glad there’s going to be a big crowd. I can pitch better then.”
“Well, do your best,” urged the manager. “There’s Percy Parnell and Fred Newton over there. I thought they were out on the field long ago.”
“Maybe they had to set fence posts too.”
“Maybe,” assented Darrell with a laugh. “And here comes Tom Davis. Who’s that with him?” and the pitcher and manager glanced at a tall, well-formed lad who was walking beside the substitute first baseman. “Evidently a stranger in town,” went on Darrell.
“Yes, I’ve seen him before,” remarked Sam. “He lives down on our street. The family just moved in. His name is Batson, or Hatson, or something like that. His father works in the harvester factory.”
“Hum,” mused Darrell. “He looks like a decent sort of chap,” and he gazed critically at the stranger. “Maybe he’d like to join our club,” for the ball team was a sort of adjunct to a boys’ athletic organization.
“Oh, we’ve got enough fellows in now,” said Sam quickly.