And when the train drew up before the Catalpa depot, the returning adventurers were gladdened by the sight of innumerable flags flying over the town in the distance. They were to be received with congratulations, after all, not as humiliated captives. "That is because we come home neck and neck, I s'pose," said "The Lily," as the notes of a brass band startled his ample ear. "It's because we are not so badly off as we might be, Billy boy," replied Larry Boyne. CHAPTER XV. MIKE COSTIGAN'S DISCOVERY. Meantime, strange things had happened in Catalpa. The town was in a ferment on the morning of the great day when the Catalpa nine were to play their second game with the Calumets. The glory of the first day's victory shone brightly to encourage the friends of the club as they loitered towards the telegraph office and clustered under the windows of the office of _The Leaf_, when the time for calling the game drew near. In the office of that influential sheet there was much commotion, as every printer at the case and every member of the slender editorial staff, even down to the young lady who wrote fashion articles out of the Chicago newspapers, was in some way interested in base ball. Those who were not members of a nine were in training, or were represented by men who were active players. Therefore, while the expectant crowd in the street below was hungry for news from the Diamond Field, the smaller convocation in the printing office above was even hungrier for the opportunity to hang out the banner of victory which all were sure would wave from the roof of _The Leaf_ before the day was done. A few despatches, vague and dealing only in glittering generalities, as the editor said, were sent early by Albert Heaton and were duly bulletined by "The Leaflet," as Mr. Downey's office boy was generally called. There were many inquiries at the telegraph office for news, but "the lady operator," with needless asperity, referred all applicants to the editor of _The Leaf_. Mike Costigan, the telegraph messenger, and Hank Jackson, the ex-champion of the Dean County Nine, were the greatest trials which the long-suffering lady at the telegraph desk had to endure. Mike had put his whole soul, which was large for his small body, into the base ball championship, and he was ready to weep if the Catalpas should not return with what he called "the skelps of them Chicago fellers" at their belts. As for Hank, he pretended to be in momentary expectation of a telegraphic despatch. As early as nine o' clock in the morning, he had begun to haunt the telegraph office and demand a message that did not come. Mike was sure that Jackson would have early news from the seat of war, and, wisely fearing Hank's heavy hand and rough tongue, he followed him at a respectful distance, waiting to hear something to encourage his fond hopes of the Catalpa club.