"I didn't tell you, did I, doctor, that I dreamed, last night, that we had won the game? Well, I did. Aunt Anstress says that dreams go by contraries and that that means our nine will be defeated. But I don't believe that; do you, doctor?"
"Well, I don't believe in dreams, anyhow, Miss Alice, and so I hardly think that that counts. But we will keep on thinking that the boys will beat, to-day, and even if we are disappointed, we have yet one more chance."
The doctor, accepting Alice's invitation, took a seat in the carriage from which advantageous point he looked over the gathering throng, now reinforced by arrivals from the region roundabout the town, for the news had gone forth that despatches were coming in from Al Heaton, and every man, woman and child who had the least interest in the game (and these were many) and could leave the labors and duties of the day, was there to hear.
"It looks as it did in the war, when the news from Shiloh and Vicksburg was coming in; doesn't it, doctor?"
"I don't know about that, Alice. I was in the war, myself, you know; was at Port Hudson and Vicksburg. You were a baby then, and I believe your father was in Congress. Yes, I guess it does look like war times. But see! There comes another bulletin!"
Editor Downey had rigorously excluded from his office all outsiders, and was devoting his personal attention to the all-important business of the day. With his own hands, he hung out the paper sheet bearing these words:
2d inning,—Catalpas, 0; Galenas, 1; 3d inning, Catalpas, 0; Galenas, 0.
"Not so good as it might be," remarked Dr. Selby, cheerfully, "but it will grow better, by and by."
A little cloud passed over the face of Alice, and she bit her lip with vexation as Hank Jackson bawled with a rough voice, "Ten to five on the Galenas!"