“That I think, is for the Cubs to decide. After what happened tonight, I’m sure we’d be justified in cancelling.”
“Only trouble is that if we do, they’ll go around Webster City calling us yellow,” Brad said. He began picking up the scattered sections of the destroyed fort. “I say, let’s play the series, and lick ’em.”
The debate waxed warm for a few minutes. Finally, however, a majority of the Cubs voted in favor of carrying on the series.
“Very well, if that’s the decision,” Mr. Hatfield said. “One thing, though! The game must not be used as a means of venting spite on the Bay Shore boys. If we play them, we must conduct ourselves as good sports. Agreed?”
The next game had been scheduled for the following Friday. With Pat and his players claiming half the receipts, the Cubs had far less enthusiasm for selling tickets during the week. Nevertheless, news had traveled that the game would be a good one. Accordingly, many persons stopped the Cubs on the street to ask for the tickets.
The Cubs were not surprised to learn that Pat had told around that the Purple Five had been cheated out of victory on a technicality.
“They’ll be laying for us next game,” Brad warned the boys of Den 2 one night as they practiced at the church gymnasium. “If we want to win, we’ve got to improve our teamwork.”
The Cubs had worked out several new plays which seemed to go fairly well. Chub however, could not get the hang of them. The others noticed that his mind never seemed entirely on the game. A ball would be tossed in his direction, and he’d seem aware of it only after it had shot past him.
“Chub, you’ve got to wake up!” Brad scolded him.
“I—I’m sorry,” Chub apologized.