To the north, the three story stone building of the school, the center of which was surmounted by a cupola, shone brightly in the afternoon sun. Beyond the residences which hemmed in the large lot on all sides several towers and domes indicated the business portion of Kingswood. It all made a very pleasing picture.
But Tom Clifton did not allow his thoughts to stray very long from the actual work in hand. He was too anxious to get in the thick of the fray again, and pull down some of the "sky-scrapers" which little Joe Rodgers was batting out with remarkable precision.
"Say, Nat, that chap is a corker," he declared. "Stand wherever you please, and he'll put the horse-hide right into your hands. Gee—see that!"
"What?" asked Nat.
"Why, the way Blake picked up Dave's grounder—one handed, too! By Jove, it was a scorcher! Where are you going, Roycroft?"
"To bat," answered Earl, with a laugh. "Come on, Spearman."
"Good! Try to knock me down. I'll show you a few fancy stunts, Nat."
"We are reserving ours until Saturday week," returned Wingate. "That's right, Tom. Snicker all you want. But it's the snickers which come after the game that count."
Tom's reply was not audible, as there was too much noise. Some hundred schoolboys, whose vocal organs were in excellent condition, seemed to be desirous of learning just how much sound they could produce at a given moment.
Bob Somers had pulled down one of Joe Rodgers' drives after a long, hard run, and although the force of the impact had sent him rolling over and over on the ground, the sphere was safe in his hands.