It was rumored that Morningside was never in better shape. Ted Clay, the pitcher, was twirling in great form it was said, and Sam Morton, as substitute, was sure to go in for several innings in the final contest.
“They say he’s a wonder for a short time,” Peaches confided to Joe.
“He is,” frankly admitted our hero. “I know his style. He can’t last, but he’s good for part of a game. With him and Ted against us I’m afraid it’s all up with our chances.”
“Oh, Joe, if you could only play!”
“I want to as much as you want me, Peaches, but it’s out of the question.”
“Maybe if we were to put it up to the doctor—that we would lose the Blue Banner without you—he’d let you play.”
“I couldn’t play that way, Peaches—under a ban. I want vindication—or nothing.”
“Yes, I suppose so—only it’s hard.”
At last came the night before the final game with Morningside. There was a spirit of unrest and a sense of impending disaster abroad in Excelsior. Every student was talking of it, even Hiram and Luke. The latter, for some days past had not been his usual self, and his crony could not understand it.
“What’s the matter with you, anyhow?” Hiram asked. “Aren’t you glad we did that chump Matson up good and brown?”