"Run along about your business, Benny," said Spearman, in disgust.
"Haven't got any business out here. Want to see a dandy picture? I'm almost an artist—fact."
He opened the blank book, and his interested schoolmates saw a drawing representing a very fat and a very thin boy standing side by side.
"Oh, you cheeky little duffer!" cried Harry Spearman. "It's Dave and Tom."
"It is not. They're over on the field. Honest, though, I've got it in for Dave. He just handed me back the fifteenth article I've written for the 'Reflector.' I call that getting bumped a trifle—don't you? From now on I work for the Pie-eaters and doughnut syndicate. I'll make a sketch in water color like this for Terry Guffin's. Suffering Ramblers! What's all the screeching about?"
The boys wheeled around, to discover the Rockville players, followed by a good-sized crowd, rapidly approaching. In their natty blue uniforms and red stockings, they presented a pleasing picture.
"A likely-looking bunch," said Benny. "Luke Phelps says they can play some, too. Hooray for the Rockvilles!"
The bursts of cheering which came from various parts of the field evidently pleased the visitors, who responded lustily.
Within a few minutes Ed Barr, manager of the team, was conferring with Lou Mercer.
"Not a very extra field, is it?" he said, eying with disapproval some of the irregularities which, in spite of the boys' earnest work, were much in evidence. "Still, it's just as bad for you as it is for us—that makes it even. Your chaps are through practicing, eh? All right. We'll warm up for a few minutes."