“Here we are!” cried the husky lobsterman. “Here we are, a hundred and fifty of us right off the island. We’re going to root for our team to-day.” It was the expected excursion party from Fairhaven, and at least fifty of the excursionists belonged to the fair sex. Fairhaven had adopted Fardale’s colors, red and black. The girls were bearing tiny red and black banners, while the men and boys had red and black ribbons knotted to the lapels of their coats. The crowd was strung out on the sidewalk until it looked to be nearly twice as large as it really was. “He! he! he!” snickered Obediah Tubbs. “We’re going ter have some backers to-day, by Jim! Rockford won’t do all the hollering.” The face of Earl Gardner flushed with pleasure as he discovered Grace Garrett in the party. Raymond Garrett now appeared, and, directed by him, the Fairhaven team marched toward the ball ground at the head of the excursionists. “I’ve had a whole section of seats reserved for our crowd,” he explained to Dick. “I’m going to keep them together to-day. We’ll see if Rockford makes all the noise.” “With so many rooters to encourage us, we ought to win,” declared Dick. “Oh, we’ll win!” laughed Ray. “I feel it in my bones. Lots of Rockfordites will be poorer and wiser to-night. They are betting all kinds of money that Rockford takes the game. I hear that Tom Fernald has put up two or three hundred dollars already, and is looking for bets now.” “He didn’t seem to be looking with much eagerness when we left the hotel,” retorted Dick. “Saw him standing in front of the Corndike all by himself.” Merriwell said nothing to Garrett of Buckhart’s peculiar actions, but during the march to the ball ground he continued to watch Brad closely. To his relief, the Texan seemed to throw off some of the peculiar stupor that had attacked him. When the field was reached and the islanders came pouring in at the gate, the Rockford spectators greeted them in various ways, some applauding and some uttering whistles and catcalls. “They’ve come over to see their great team wiped off the map!” shouted a boy. “That’s right!” cried another. “There won’t be anything but a grease spot left of Fairhaven after this game.” The local team was already practicing on the field. Dick and his players assembled at their bench, opening their bat bags and laying out the bats. Buckhart sat down, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands. In a hazy way he seemed to watch the practicing players. “Get up here,” commanded Dick, producing a ball and giving the Westerner a nudge. “I’m going to toss you a few.” Brad rose and walked out to catch the ball. “Going to take them barehanded?” inquired Dick. Brad glanced at his left hand with an expression of surprise. “Forgot my mitt!” he muttered. “Where is it?” One of the boys found the big catching mitt and tossed it to Brad, who failed to catch it and was struck in the stomach by it.