“Pile in there behind,” he said. “You’ll find room somewhere!”
“Sure!” called a voice from the body of the coach, which was one of those long vehicles with seats running lengthwise on either side, known in some localities as a “barge.” “Sure! Lots of room. Come on!”
So they went. A boy hanging on to the steps behind dropped out of the way, and they climbed in. The occupants, a merry, good-natured throng, shoved and pushed until there was room for the newcomers, and the coach started up again. Many curious looks were cast at the boys’ packs, and finally,
“Going over to the game?” asked Dan’s nearest neighbor.
“What game is that?” asked Dan politely.
“Oh, I thought perhaps you were going,” was the reply. “It’s the game between Laurelville and Mannig; baseball, you know. We play ’em every year for a purse.”
“Oh,” said Dan, in turn. “Where’s it to be?”
“Laurelville this year. We’re the Mannig team—and rooters,” he added with a laugh. “The fellow that called out to you is Burns, our captain and third baseman. It’s going to be a great game. Everybody turns out, you know.”
“I see. Are you going to win?”
“Not likely, I guess,” was the answer. But a howl of protest arose.