Chipper Cooper hit the ball handsomely three times in succession, and relinquished the bat with a whoop of satisfaction.
"Got my eye with me to-day," he cried. "We've all got 'em peeled; everybody has. Sanger'll have his troubles. We'll win like a breeze, fellows."
"How very confident you are," said Rackliff, moving slowly forward. "You all seem to think this game is going to be a cinch for Oakdale, but I've got an idea that you'll sing a different tune to-night."
"Oh, you have!" cried Chipper, turning on him. "Listen to Solomon, the wise man, fellers."
"I have a fancy that Barville is going to win," stated Herbert, not a whit abashed. "In fact, I believe it so much that I'm willing to make a little bet on it."
"Bet you a pint of peanuts," gurgled Chub Tuttle.
"Don't ruin yourself by such recklessness. I've got some real money."
"Dinged if he ain't a sport!" sneered Site Crane. "He wants to bet real money on the game."
"How does it happen you have the impression that Barville will beat us, Rackliff?" inquired Roger Eliot mildly.
"Well, now, I don't mind answering that," beamed Herbert. "Barville has got a surprise for you. I'm not supposed to mention it, but I can't keep it any longer. They've got a new catcher, a friend of mine, and——"