“You’ve seen what the papers are saying about our prospects. We’re called fast enough to make it interesting for college teams, but several degrees too weak to hold down the Outcasts. Henshaw, of the _Universe_, says the chances are more than even that we’ll not score if O’Neill is used against us. Anderson, of the _Standard_, says it would be a shame to use O’Neill and give us no chance; he urges Manager McGann to put in Brackett. Pulsifer, of the _Evening Dispatch_, thinks we are going to lose the reputation we have made on our trip this season.” “And they all make me tired!” cried Bart. “We’ll give them a chance to sing another song in their Sunday columns.” The boys took care of themselves, lived properly and sought to come up to the game in the pink of condition. Frank kept his eyes open for Hobart Manton, but once more Manton seemed to have disappeared completely. From Wallace Grafter he learned that charges had been preferred at the Eagle Heights A.A. against Frost and Necker, as having attempted to assault an honorary member of the club. Merriwell had been taken into the Eagle Heights A.A. after his success at the meet in defeating two of its champions. Saturday proved to be a fine day. The boys were in a glow of enthusiasm. When they thought of the coming struggle in Hoboken they tingled all over. The game was to be called at 3 o’clock. At 2.30 Frank and his team reached the grounds and found a river of people crowding in at the gate. Evidently the game would be witnessed by an immense crowd. They hurried to the dressing rooms and quickly got into their suits. When they came out onto the field they found the Outcasts practicing. The appearance of Merriwell’s team produced a stir and caused many of the spectators to applaud loudly. Melvin McGann hastened to shake hands with Frank. He was beaming in a most satisfied manner. “Look at this mob!” he exclaimed. “I’m afraid we’ll have hard work keeping them off the field. We’ve stretched ropes, but ropes won’t hold a crowd back if it gets too large. Here is Captain Hurley. Mr. Hurley—Mr. Merriwell.” Hugh Hurley shook hands with Frank. “Glad to meet you Mr. Merriwell,” he said. “You may have the field for practice.” Frank sent his players out at once. Bob Gowan and Mike Grafter were sitting together. Wallace Grafter joined them as the Merries trotted onto the field. The Tammany man surveyed the youngsters in blue in a doubtful manner. “Is this the team you told me to bet on, son?” he asked. “Sure, dad,” nodded Wallace. “Rather immature, some of ’em. Look like boys.” “They are all men in years, although they do look rather boyish,” said Wallace. “Hum!” grunted Mr. Grafter doubtfully. Gowan grinned. “I’ve got ye!” he wheezed. “Your money is mine! The kids won’t be in the game for a minute.”