Larry replied that that was precisely what Ben Burton thought, and Hiram ejaculated, "Oh, he does, does he? Then it seems that our short stop and our adversaries, or the friends of our adversaries, agree as to what is going to happen to-morrow."
"Perhaps they are right," said Albert, cheerily. "But here we are," and stopping before a handsome house, he darted up the steps and rang the door bell.
While the lads waited for admission, Larry turned and looked westward, with wistful eyes, and said,
"I wonder how they are taking the news in Catalpa, about now?"
Albert's reply that they were probably having a jollification really described what was at that moment taking place. Tom Selby was the happy recipient of early telegrams from Larry, and the editor of The Leaf sustained his reputation by putting out bulletins from Al Heaton and his father, at frequent intervals during the progress of the game. The excitement waxed high as the contest proceeded, and when the final result was reached, the town was fairly mad with joy. The event had eclipsed everything of the kind that had happened during the season. Every man who had a flag hung it out to the breeze. Jedediah Van Orman, "The Lily's" father, took up a collection from the willing shopkeepers and bought a supply of powder, with which he proceeded to fire a salute from four anvils, the only artillery then accessible in the town. Victory brooded over Catalpa, and in every house as the red sun went down, that night, there was but one theme of conversation—base ball.
PRIDE HAS A FALL.
Fog and dampness covered the city of Chicago, next day, when the Catalpa nine, shivering in the chilly air, loitered the time away before the hour came for their little preliminary practice in the base ball grounds. Somebody said, while Captain Hiram was marshalling his men, that the day was a bad one for Catalpa. At this Larry laughed heartily. "As if," he said, "the gloom of a foggy day was not just as ominous for the Chicago boys as for the Catalpas."