At that most of the fellows observed each other with questioning and somewhat dismayed glances. Dick, studying his list, replied: “That doesn’t make much difference, does it? None of those places are far away and it won’t break us to pay trolley fares. After all, we don’t need the money as far as I see.” “Don’t we!” exploded Jack. “We need it like anything!” Curtis Wayland kicked him on the ankle and Jack subsided. “What for?” asked Dick, mildly surprised. “We’ve got four balls that haven’t been used and three that are still good. We’ve got bats and gloves and a mask and about everything else. I thought we were in this for the fun of it. What do we want to make money for?” But Jack only mumbled, while the others regarded him with threatening looks. Will Scott changed the subject gracefully. “You fellows don’t want to forget that there’s a meeting to-night about the new field. You’d better all show up. We want to get as many there as possible.” “Thought it was just a meeting of the committee,” said Gordon. “No, it’s public. We want to find out what the fellows think about it before we go ahead and do anything.” “I don’t see that there’s more than one thing we can think about it,” observed Tom. “The old field’s going and we’ve got to have another. That’s dead simple.” “Yes, but we may have to rent ground,” replied Way. “And we want to know how far out of town fellows are willing to go. And how much we ought to pay.” “And whether to get a place on the town side or across the river. There’s a field over toward the Point, right near the car line, that might do.” “That’s a long way from school, though,” objected Fudge. “Any place we find is going to be a long way,” replied Will. “There isn’t any place in town big enough to play baseball on. As a matter of fact, the whole thing is a good deal of a puzzle. It’s going to cost us a lot of money, any way you look at it. We’ve got to have a new track and we’ve got to fence the field in and move the grandstand to it. It’s going to cost like sixty. I wish old man Brent had to make us a present of the old field or lose his money.” “Stingy old codger,” muttered Fudge. “There’s no sense in blaming Mr. Brent, Fudge,” said Dick. “We ought to be grateful to him for letting us have the field as long as he has. What we’ll have to do is get subscriptions from the graduates and anyone else we can. The next station is ours, fellows. Get your bags together.”