The Westvale team had arrived, accompanied by a coterie of enthusiastic supporters, armed with tin horns, maroon-colored banners, and mighty voices, which, with small hopes of winning on the field, were resolved to accomplish a notable victory of sound.

On the side-line, with a dozen other substitutes whose greatest desire was to be taken on the first eleven, sat Joel.

Outfield West was sprawled beside him with his caddie bag clutched to his breast, and the two boys were discussing the game.

West had arrived upon the scene but a moment before.
"We'll beat them by about a dozen points, I guess," Joel was prophesying.

"They say the score was twenty to nothing last year, but Remsen declares the first isn't nearly as far advanced as it was this time last season.