"Write it up and submit your stuff," laughed Dave. "If it's good I'll slip it in."
"Bully! That's a go. Now don't try to back out, Dave Brandon. You heard him say it, fellows."
The team, headed by Coach Roger Steele, was already making for the door, followed by as enthusiastic and hopeful a band of rooters as ever backed up a school nine.
Freshmen struggled for the honor of carrying bats, masks and other paraphernalia.
It was an ideal day, cool and crisp, but not chilly enough to stiffen the players' muscles.
A big crowd greeted the boys on the scene of the impending battle. Almost every student of the school seemed to be there, while numbers of the townspeople mingled with the groups.
"Somers, Somers!" yelled the mob. The cry rose and fell in waves of sound, causing a flush to mantle the captain's cheek. "Rah, rah, rah! Boom!"
Purple and white pennants flashed brightly in the sunlight. It certainly looked like a great day for the Kingswood High.
By the fence behind home plate the players gathered around Coach Steele.
"Don't get rattled," he cautioned. "Remember, quick thinking at a crucial point has won many a game. Feel 'em out in the early innings, and don't let a single chance for stealing a base slip by."