There was no doubt that the Clippers were a drawing card. Although their team was one of the best in the Amateur League, the rumor had spread abroad that it had been largely reconstructed by Colonel Carson for this game, and the near-by towns had sent their contingents of fans, in no little expectation.
Fardale field was crowded long before the time for the game. Before two o’clock the grand stand was sold out. There was no overflow crowd, since the long bleachers were full able to handle every one, but automobiles were parked by the score at all available points, and it looked as if ground rules would have to go into effect.
There had been a big shift in the Fardale team, also. News of this had leaked out, and consequently both cadets and baseball fans were eager to see what Captain Merriwell had done in the way of a shake-up.
Man after man purchased a score card, and then gazed at it in blank amazement. If he happened to be a Fardale rooter, the amazement was tinctured with dismay. If he was a Clipper fan, he stared at his card in perplexity, and began to ask questions of the men around him.
[270]
This was the line-up that caused the crowd so much confusion:
FARDALE.
Lowe, 3d b.
O’Day, r. f.
Kess, 2d b.
Clancy, 1st b.
Merriwell, p.
Harker, ss.
McQuade, c.
Chester, l. f.
Lang, c. f.  CLIPPERS.
Ironton, ss.
Murray, 2d b.
Green, p.
Smith, 1st b.
Olcott, c.
Johnson, r. f.
Craven, 3d b.
Runge, l. f.
Merrell, c. f.
“That’s a queer proposition,” said a Clipper fan, turning to the man behind him. “Who’s this fellow Green? And Smith?”
“Search me. All we got left o’ the old Clippers is short and second.”
Over in the Fardale bleachers there was little short of a sensation, for Chip’s line-up had not been made public before the game.
“We’re gone!” groaned one man despairingly. “With Kess on second and O’Day out in the field, it’s ‘good night’ for us!”
“Merriwell must be crazy,” exclaimed another. “That blundering Dutchman can’t hit beans! And Lowe and Harker switched around, and a substitute in left field! I wish Ted Crockett had remained captain, by thunder!”
“Oh, pickles!” scoffed a plebe derisively. “Who[271] left the door open for you to get in? You wait and see what happens to those Clippers!”
None the less, Fardale was anxious. So were the Clipper sympathizers. When the time for practice drew near, the crowd was literally on its toes, watching for the first sight of the players. Both teams were an unknown quantity, in their present shape, and the only comfort remaining to Fardale was that Merriwell was slated to pitch. The umpires were two Yale men, specially obtained for the occasion.
Frank was forced to dismiss his worry over Bob Randall, as the time for work drew near. Nothing had been seen of Bully Carson, and Randall was due to witness the game from the principal’s box—partly as a guest, partly under surveillance. The village constable was somewhere about the field, hunting for Carson.
Colonel Carson himself was in evidence in the grand stand, laying as many bets as he could find Fardale takers. Most of these latter were out-of-town men, for there were few among the cadets themselves who cared to do any gambling. The colonel knew nothing of his son, it appeared, and had not seen him that day.
“I’ve heard a lot about this Merriwell guy,” stated a Fardale fan to the world at large. “Has he got anything?”
“Has he!” A fat man below him turned around, brandishing a fan in one hand and a pop[272] bottle in the other. “Say, ever see the old Frank Merriwell pitch?”
“Uh-huh, once.”
“Well, the kid is a chip of the old block, take it from me!”
“I guess I’ll not let Colonel Carson slide past me, then,” and the Fardale rooter took out his pocketbook.
Finally a tremendous burst of cheering started in the bleachers and gradually spread around the field. The two teams had arrived for practice work! Every head was craned to look, and a howl of expectation rose as the Clippers took the field first.
The howl rose to a roar of applause as the ball began to whip around. The new Clipper infield was a wonder! Their precision was magnificent, and the way they put the sphere to the bases made Fardale gasp.
With Coach Trayne, Merry stood watching them work. Off to one side, Green was limbering up with his catcher, Olcott. He was a tall, slender, wiry man with a very brown face and terrific speed to his practice ball.
“Chip, that fellow is a tartar!” murmured the coach. “Watch how easily he puts those sizzlers down, eh? He moves as if every muscle was run by clockwork!”
“He certainly is a beautiful pitcher,” Frank said admiringly. “And look there—see that fellow[273] Craven pick up that hot one! Ironton and Murray are the only infielders left from their old team, but I guess Colonel Carson knew his busines............