Out on the diamond trotted the renovated Excelsior nine. They were received with a burst of applause, and at once got to practice. A little later out came their rivals, and there was a cheer for them. Immediately the opposition cheering and shouting contingents got busy, and there was a riot of sound.
“Going to stay and see the game?” asked Luke of Hiram, as they entered the gate.
“Yes, might as well. Gee! But I hope our fellows lose!”
Nice sentiments, weren’t they for an Excelsior student? But then Hiram was very sore and angry.
“So do I,” added Luke. “It would show them what a mistake they made by dropping us.”
“That’s right,” agreed the conceited Hiram. “If they had only waited we’d have come out all right. It was all the fault of Joe Matson and Tom Davis. I’ll get square with ’em yet.”
They strolled over the grounds, winding in and out amid the throngs. They almost collided with a Morningside player.
“Beg your pardon,” murmured Luke. “Oh, it’s Sam Morton,” he added, for he had met Sam in town a week or so previously. “Have you met Hiram Shell, Sam,” and he introduced the two.
“Oh, yes, you’re the manager of the Excelsiors,” said Sam. “Glad to know you. I think we’ll beat you again. I may pitch after the fifth inning. I’m only the sub now, but I expect to be the regular soon.”