“No, we’re strangers here; just happened along this morning. Would you mind putting a bit more milk in this? It’s a little too sweet.”
The clerk obeyed, thereby practically doubling Dan’s drink. Tom watched enviously, and looked doubtfully at his own glass, which was about empty, in the hope that the clerk would offer to perform a like service for him. But the clerk was busy talking again, and paid no attention.
“Well, we think we’ve got a pretty good pitcher ourselves,” he said smugly. “Ever hear of ‘Slim’ Somes, of Rockaway?”
Dan said he had, neglecting to add that the only occasion on which he had heard of Mr. Somes was that morning in the coach. The clerk nodded with satisfaction.
“Well, just you keep your eyes on him,” he advised. “He’s one of the best there is, he is. And if you want to bet anything on the game, I know where you’ll find some one to oblige you.”
“Thanks,” answered Dan carelessly. “I make it a rule never to bet. I’m so lucky that it seems too bad to take the other chap’s money every time; I get ashamed of myself. Well, good luck.”
They went out and made their way along the crowded sidewalk to the hotel, the only incident of moment occurring when Barry was suddenly missed, and was discovered a minute later in a baker’s shop, where he had “treed” a big Maltese cat on top of a showcase. The woman in charge was highly indignant, and threatened Dan with the law until he squared himself by purchasing three jelly tarts for a nickel, and admiring the cat.
Dinner was a confused and hurried meal, for there were at least three applicants for every place at the four long tables, and to eat calmly with a dozen persons crowding about and waiting for your chair was simply out of the question.
The game was to begin at half-past two, and at two the coaches came to the door again, and the Mannig party tumbled into them, and were driven away to a chorus of hoots and jeers from the audience outside the hotel. The ball ground was on the outskirts of the town, a very creditable field with a grand stand capable of seating several hundred persons. The Mannig team took the field for practice. Nelson and Bob had been presented with uniforms of gray flannel bearing big blue Ms on the breasts of the shirts, uniforms secured from a couple of substitutes only after persuasion almost amounting to main force. Bob was put at right field. It had been some time since he had played in the outfield, for his position was behind the bat, but after a few flies had come his way he gained the old knack of judging. For several years he had played on his high-school team, and last spring he had been elected captain. Besides this he had played with and captained the Camp Chicora team for the past two summers. Dan, too, was by this time a fairly experienced player. At school he was only the substitute pitcher, but in spite of that he was pretty clever. At Chicora he had done excellent service the past summer in the box, and he and Bob had comprised a very formidable battery. During practice he warmed up by pitching to the Mannig catcher, a long, lanky youth, named Conly, and it soon became evident that they were going to work together very well.