"Not much," sniffed Tom.
"Well, here we are on the field. Let's get busy. Hello, Joe! Glad to see you. Guess you'll be on hand to see the game, eh?"
An expansive smile rested on Joe Rodgers' freckled face. He looked very different from the lad whom Dave Brandon had found as an employee of Spudger's Great Combined Peerless Circus and Menagerie.
"Won't I though, Mr. Steele?" he answered. "How are you, Dave! Howdy, Bob! Maybe I wouldn't like to be on the team."
"You'll get there some day," chuckled Dave. "Ready, 'Jack Frost'? I want to get my batting eye in shape."
Among the great crowd of boys who surged on the field not a word of opposition was heard. The fast and snappy play brought forth ripples of applause. Bounders, grass-cutters, line drives and high flies were fielded or caught with admirable precision. There were few false movements made in whipping the ball from one to another.
It was an inspiring sight to the Somers partisans. They cheered and yelled themselves hoarse. Joe Rodgers was in ecstasy.
"They can't be beaten!" he cried.
"Three forty-five P. M. Decision reached that the Ramblers can't be beaten," chuckled Benny Wilkins, who happened to be near. "Too bad we can't get some major leaguers out here and show 'em just where they stand."
"Saturday will be a great day for the school team," predicted Harry Spearman. "Everybody is brimming over with confidence."