That Monday game was ultimately won by Sam’s team, 13 to 10, and was featured by a lot of hard hitting by both sides and some really fast fielding. Mr. Gifford, in the points for the Second, pitched a fair game and Benson caught him handsomely. But George Porter was on his mettle, too, and had the better of the battle. Sam doubted the wisdom of allowing Porter to pitch the whole of nine innings, but the desire to win that game got the better of his discretion, and, besides, there was no one to take Porter’s place. On Tuesday there was no real game, but there was a full two hours of the most strenuous batting and fielding and base-running, with every candidate getting a chance. And then, on Tuesday evening, the three councillors got together and picked the team that was to battle for the honour of The Wigwam on Thursday. It was no light task, that, as Mr. Gifford explained later at camp-fire. “We all wished,” he announced to the attentive audience, “that a baseball team comprised eighteen men instead of nine, because there are at least eighteen of you who deserve places. It’s been hard work making a choice in lots of cases, and we may have made mistakes. But we’ve done our honest best, fellows, and we’ve judged you only on performance. Some of you are going to be disappointed. That’s unavoidable. To those who have striven and failed the camp owes its thanks. One thing I am quite sure of, however, and that is that those of you who aren’t chosen will hold no resentment, but will ‘pull’ just as hard. Well, here’s the list, fellows.” Mr. Gifford leaned forward so that the firelight fell on the sheet of paper he held. “Porter and Gifford, pitchers; Craig and Benson, catchers; Murdock, first base; Brown, second; Crossbush, third; Thursby, shortstop; Meldrum, right field; Groom, centre field; Peterson, left field; substitutes, Charrit, Temple, Sawyer, Simpson, and Wonson.” A hearty cheer arose as Mr. Gifford finished. Disappointed ones grinned hard and shouted loudest. Successful candidates were pummelled and thumped and there was a great to-do until Mr. Langham arose. “I don’t know much about it, fellows,” he said, “but I guess we can trust Mr. Gifford and Mr. Brown and Mr. Craig. I feel certain that they have chosen fairly and well. A good many of you had to be left out. They left me out, too. And Mr. Haskins. But he and I, and all the rest of us who haven’t been selected, are going to cheer just as hard. I hope we shall win that game, fellows, but if we don’t, let’s show those Mount Placid chaps that we are bully good losers. In any case, we’re going to have a good time. We’re going to stand together and pull together for a victory, and if we don’t get it we’re going to keep on smiling. That’s all, I guess, except that I think we ought to give a good big cheer for the team!”