“An umpire!” scoffed Caspar. “We’ll have to have two of them for this game; one at the plate and one on bases. Maybe your friend Potter can persuade President Johnson to officiate. This is going to be some game, Lovering!”
“It’s going to be a circus,” replied Dick. “I dare say they’ll be selling popcorn and peanuts there!”
“Sure to! Well, so long. Tell Potter I’m crazy about it. By the way, how are you and young Townsend getting on? Loring told me yesterday that the kid thinks you’re about the finest thing that ever walked on—I mean——”
“Ever hobbled on two crutches,” laughed Dick. “Well, Harold and I pull together pretty well these days. The boy is really working like a slave, Billings. I didn’t think he could do it.”
“He’s a heap more decent than he was the first of the season. You always wanted to kick him then. Now he behaves like a real fellow. I suppose he’s told you he is our official scorer now? He doesn’t do so badly, either. If you criticize his way of scoring he looks at you haughtily and says, ‘This is the way Lovering does it, and he knows!’”
“You’ll have to lay the blame on me, then, if your scorer doesn’t do you justice, Billings. Good-bye!”
It was Fudge who most delighted in the sensational aspect of the third contest with Rutter’s Point. Fudge loved excitement and color and romance, and for that reason the Reporter’s daily items about the soul-stirring event filled him with joy. He started a scrap-book and almost filled it with the amazing articles that appeared from Mr. Potter’s feverish and versatile pen. On the morning after Dick’s call on Caspar Billings the Reporter blazed forth at the top of the third column of the first page as follows:
THIRD GAME AGREED ON
CLEARFIELD AND RUTTER’S POINT TO PLAY OFF
TIE ON AUG. 27—LOCAL CHAMPIONSHIP AT