“Come on, fellows,” called the captain of the team, looking round the corner. “What are you doing here? The coach is waiting for us.”
They followed him to the field.
A slight spitting fall of snow, beginning early the following morning, filled the boys with apprehension, but it did not result in a storm; and at ten o’clock the members of the team and the coach set out on their long ride over the frozen roads to Wyndham. A group of boys and girls who could not make the trip to witness the game were assembled at the square in front of the postoffice, and gave the buckboard load of husky youngsters a rousing send-off. As the buckboard swung down the main street Piper espied a sturdy, solitary figure in front of Stickney’s store.
“There he is!” exclaimed Sleuth. “There’s Grant watching us!”
“The cheap, blabbing coward!” cried Barker.
Ben Stone, sitting in front of Berlin, twisted round in his heavy overcoat.
“Look here, Barker,” he said indignantly, “if you’re referring to my friend Grant, take my advice and use different language in my hearing.”
“Oh, ho!” sneered Berlin. “Your friend Grant, eh? Well, you must be proud of your friend!”
Stone’s face was flushed, and he would have made a hot retort had not Eliot promptly interfered.
“Drop it, both of you,” commanded Roger. “This is no time for a quarrel. We’ve got a football game on our hands.”