“Certainly,” he answered. “Then, if you expect to get there before we do, you will have to start soon, for we go by train.” “You don’t return till after dinner?” “No,” I answered. “Then we will have time. We want to get back before you, so as to prepare the boys. We must have a bonfire to-night.” As soon as some measure of order could be restored Clinton got his crowd together into the omnibuses; and after a farewell round of cheers, they took their leave, while we drove back to the hotel. The rest of the spectators had dispersed in angry silence. “Well, talk about luck!” exclaimed Tony, as he came into the room where we were changing our suits and packing our things. “How was that for a close shave?” “Entirely too close,” answered Ray. “We climbed through a pretty small hole to-day. One or two more innings, and they might have got away with us. We won by pure luck, and we haven’t much to boast of. I tell you what it is, fellows, if we are going to win that Crimson Banner, we will have to learn how to hit Arnold’s pitching. He had us fairly at his mercy this afternoon.” “I don’t think they outplayed us,” said Percy Randall. “Nor I,” answered Ray, “but they played a stronger game than I expected, and I didn’t feel at all sure of our success until the last man was out. I gave a long sigh of relief when Lewis Page gobbled up that fly ball. All we want to do is to bat stronger. If we can get the best of Arnold we can beat them any number of times. Batting is what we need to practise.” After dinner, Ray, Tony, and I were standing on the hotel piazza where a number of the students and town men were assembled. Among the former was Beard, who came forward as he caught a glimpse of Ray’s face. The result of the game had not improved his disposition. He was morose and surly. At the first words of the interview, Arnold, who had been standing a short distance away, came forward and joined us. “I suppose it would be better to write you concerning the decisive game,” said Ray, addressing Beard. “I do not feel able at present to suggest a date.” “I do not see any reason for a ‘decisive game,’” said Arnold coldly. “Why, what do you mean?” I asked in astonishment. “The rules of the League say nothing about decisive games,” answered Arnold. “We have the Crimson Banner, and we hold it in case of a tie. We hold it until some other college can win it from us.” “Mr. Arnold,” said Ray quietly, “the rules of the League say that, in case of a tie, it can be played off according to any arrangement agreed upon between the captains of the two competing nines. Allow me to say that I arranged before the game this afternoon with Mr. Beard, your captain, that we should play a decisive game at Belmont in case of a tie.” “What!” cried Arnold irritably, turning to Beard. “Do you mean to say that you made any such arrangement?” “I did,” said Beard, looking away. “Well, what under the sun did you――Beard, you’ve made a fool of yourself,” said Arnold.