It was the afternoon of the great game. Already the grandstands on the Westfield grounds were beginning to fill up with the cohorts of the two schools, and other spectators who came to look on, and cheer. There were pretty girls galore, and a glance over the seats showed a riot of colors from the hats and dresses of the maidens, to the gay banners and ribbons on horns and canes. The Tuckerton nine had arrived in a big coach, and their entrance on the diamond was a signal for a burst of cheers and many songs. Then out trotted the home team, and there was a wild burst of barbaric voices in greeting, while rival singing bands, more or less in harmony, chanted the praises of their respective teams. The Smith boys were with their mates, and, even though he knew he was not going to play, Bill had put on a uniform. “I’ll feel better sitting on the bench than up in the stand,” he said to his chums. He tried to smile, but it was a woeful imitation. There was a sharp practice by both teams. Cap took Mersfeld to a secluded spot, and gave him some final advice about signals, before they started to warm-up. Bill, who wanted to see how his rival was handling the horsehide strolled over to watch him and Cap. “Pretty good,” he said to Mersfeld, who had pitched in some hot ones. “Glad you think so,” was the somewhat ungracious answer. “I guess I’ll do.” Mersfeld was anything but modest. It was almost time for the game to be called. Just back of where Bill was watching his brother and Mersfeld, Whistle-Breeches was knocking grounders to Pete, who was to play shortstop. Some one threw in a ball from the outfield to one of the fungle batters. The sphere went wild, and came toward Whistle-Breeches. “Look out!” yelled Pete, and Anderson raised his bat intending to stop the wildly-thrown horsehide. He hit it harder than he intended, and it was shunted off in the direction of Bill. “Duck!” suddenly exclaimed Cap, who saw his brother’s danger, and instinctively Bill dodged. He turned to one side so quickly that he lost his balance, and the next moment he fell heavily, his head striking the ground with considerable force, while the ball landed some distance from him. They all expected to see Bill jump to his feet with a laugh at his awkwardness, but to the surprise of all he remained lying there, still and quiet. “Bill’s hurt!” cried Cap, making a dash toward him, while several other players came hurrying forward to see what was the matter. CHAPTER XXXI “PLAY BALL!” Cap Smith was the first to reach his brother. As he lifted him up Bill opened his eyes. “I’m all right,” he murmured. “I can stand alone.” He proved it by doing so. His hand went to his head, and when it came away there was a little smear of blood on the palm. “Must have hit on a stone and cut myself,” he said, a bit faintly. “But I’m all right now.” “Are you sure?” asked Pete, slipping his arm around his brother. “Better come over here and sit down.”