“I should think so,” answered Bennett; “you played finely this afternoon, and I don’t think you have ever put a stronger nine on the field. I don’t feel ashamed of the defeat at all, for it was a mighty well fought game on both sides.” “You gave us very generous treatment,” said Ray, “and we shall always remember it gratefully.” “It was only a return of the courtesy we have always received at Belmont,” answered Slade. “We simply gave you a fair show. Everybody ought to have that. If we had received it at Berkeley, we might have been more successful. By the way, I suppose you have heard the news from Dean?” “Yes,” said Ray. “It was only what I expected. Did you receive any word concerning Arnold?” “No. What about him?” “Our telegram stated he was unwell, and gave up pitching in the fourth inning.” “It couldn’t be of any importance,” rejoined Slade, “for the message I received said nothing about it. Did he leave the field?” “No,” answered Tony. “My telegram reads, ‘Arnold unwell in fourth inning――changed places with Cross.’ Cross, you know, is their substitute pitcher, and plays right field.” “Then of course it doesn’t amount to much,” said Bennett. “The game was no doubt virtually won in the first four innings, and so Arnold changed positions in order to avoid all chances of straining his arm.” “I suppose he was bent on taking things as easily as possible, and saving up his strength for you next Monday,” added Slade with a smile. “That is more like the real truth of the matter,” answered Ray. “Arnold no doubt felt confident of the Dean game, and didn’t want to overwork himself. I told the fellows not to put any faith in rumors of sickness.” “What were you thinking of doing this evening?” asked Slade, looking at his watch, and changing the subject. “Nothing in particular,” answered Ray. “Well, our dramatic club gives an amateur performance in the college hall, and I came over here especially to invite you all to attend. Of course it doesn’t amount to much as a dramatic treat, but we always have lots of fun. What do you say?” A chorus of assent greeted this proposition. “Come on then,” said Slade. “I have complimentary tickets for the whole crowd. The performance begins at eight o’clock, so there is no time to lose.” As we were going out one of the hallboys brought Tony Larcom a telegram. Tony opened it, glanced over its contents, and then, with a laugh, handed it to me. The telegram was from Clinton Edwards, and ran as follows: News just received. Hurrah for Belmont! Let the good work go on. I will meet you at Berkeley on Monday and bring the “baseball chorus” with me to yell for the champions. “What is the ‘baseball chorus’?” asked Percy Randall, as the telegram passed from one to another.