Earl Roycroft laughed softly. He knew that it wouldn't take much to start a lively wrangle between Wingate and Spearman, as Nat was of a highly impetuous nature, while the latter's principal characteristics were nervousness and excitability. But he found it easy to stem the tide of belligerency which seemed on the point of beginning.
Freshmen, sophomores, juniors and seniors, mingling in a fraternal spirit, formed scattered groups all over the lot, occasionally yelling with as much vigor and enthusiasm as though about to witness a championship game. Many wore purple and white sweaters, and these garments added a touch of bright color to the still barren landscape.
"There's 'Jack Frost' in the box, fellows," remarked Earl. "He has a slow ball that will puzzle the Rockville boys. I've been up against it, and I know. Comes so slow that you almost fall asleep waiting for it to pass over the plate."
William Frost was the name of the player in question, though, of course, his schoolmates generally called him "Jack."
"And Tony Tippen has an inshoot that would make the Cannon Ball Express look like a slow freighter," laughed Nat. "Gee, I wish the next two weeks would roll around fast. I guess you high school fellows are in for a pretty hard jolt. We hate to do it, too, for this is a mighty poor ball field, and a few lambastings will probably knock all that fine Rupert Barry business in the head."
"Oh, it will, eh?" sniffed Spearman. "Next season the Purple and White team will be using that new ball park, and we'll have a grand stand, besides."
"Sorry to have to put that happy train of thought off the track," chuckled Nat. "Have you forgotten the Goose Hill crowd and a few others?"
"It wouldn't faze us if they were major leaguers."
"Hello, you 'Pie-eaters'; hello! Where's the rest of the 'Doughnut' crowd?"
This hail, coming in very gruff tones from the tall sprinter who had excited Earl Roycroft's admiration, made Nat Wingate's eyes glitter ominously.