When the players reached the lot Victor Collins came rushing up to them. "Hello, fellows!" he cried. "Guess the 'Hopes' are getting ready to build a bonfire to celebrate the opening game. They've got three or four big soap boxes. I asked Brown what he wanted 'em for, and he said: 'You'll find out before long.' Is Uncle Ralph coming? Why sure! So is 'Uncle' Steve." "I see Brown has been good enough to leave us the regular diamond," remarked Coach Steele. "Pitch in, fellows. The Rockvilles are almost due." "I can't help feeling that something is in the wind," said Dave, as he thrust his hand into a mit and started for the outfield. "Line them over with plenty of steam, Bob." Dan Brown and the "Hopes" were not far distant. Their noisy yelling came incessantly over the air. "I'd like to know why in thunder those fellows are wearing their uniforms, Sam Randall?" exclaimed Harry Spearman. "I suppose they are up to some mischief, Harry. Hello, Benny Wilkins!" He raised his voice. "Toddle this way!" Benny, giving Luke Phelps a punch in the ribs, immediately darted toward the president of the athletic association, hotly pursued by the other. The crowd, getting in Luke's way, however, soon caused him to desist. "That's the time I corked him a real good one!" cried Benny, gleefully. "Phelps said something rude about Bob Somers. It was true, all right; but I didn't like to hear it. Look at this, fellows." Benny exhibited an enormous book and a carpenter's pencil. "Gee whiz!" exclaimed Spearman. "What's that for?" "I'm going to write a regular serial story this afternoon and make a lot of sketches besides," explained Benny. "This is the heaviest ammunition I could find. Some class to me, eh? What did you say, Mr. Randall?" "Why is Brown's crowd practicing to-day; know anything about it?" "Sure! I've got a whole lot of notes. But they haven't passed the censor yet. 'Buttermilk' Brown's the censor. Gee--look at that! Somers hits the ball so hard it smokes." "Run along about your business, Benny," said Spearman, in disgust. "Haven't got any business out here. Want to see a dandy picture? I'm almost an artist--fact." He opened the blank book, and his interested schoolmates saw a drawing representing a very fat and a very thin boy standing side by side. "Oh, you cheeky little duffer!" cried Harry Spearman. "It's Dave and Tom." "It is not. They're over on the field. Honest, though, I've got it in for Dave. He just handed me back the fifteenth article I've written for the 'Reflector.' I call that getting bumped a trifle--don't you? From now on I work for the Pie-eaters and doughnut syndicate. I'll make a sketch in water color like this for Terry Guffin's. Suffering Ramblers! What's all the screeching about?" The boys wheeled around, to discover the Rockville players, followed by a good-sized crowd, rapidly approaching. In their natty blue uniforms and red stockings, they presented a pleasing picture.