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ville down last Saturday, it would look bad for Scranton to be snowed under by an outside nine without any reputation, as they have hardly played together this season so far." "Oh! I haven't forgotten my promise to Mr. Saunders and you, Hugh," protested the reliable backstop of the high-school team "I'm too fond of baseball to neglect any chance for playing. But we'll try and put this other affair over in the A.M., and that'll leave us free to play ball after lunch. I wonder how far away our friend, Brother Lu, will be this time tomorrow?" "Perhaps many miles," suggested Hugh, "and then again he may be taking things as easy as ever over there at Sister Matilda's cottage. It's going to be a toss-up whether our game works as we hope, or falls flat to the ground." CHAPTER X HOW JIM PETTIGREW FIXED IT When Saturday morning came, the two chums of Scranton High met as per arrangement, and as Thad expressed it, made a "bee-line" downtown. They were fairly wild to get bold of the first copy of the _Weekly Courier_ that was placed on sale. As a rule, it was delivered to the several newsstands, and at the railroad station, around eight o'clock. Then the "printer's devil," who was also the carrier, delivering copies to most of the town folks who subscribed in that fashion, would start out with a first bundle in his bag, taking his time about leaving the same at different doors. Perhaps nowadays, however, when there was likely to be a baseball game in the afternoon to enliven things, the said boy might quicken his pace a bit, so as to get through, and have a chance to witness the struggle. They were just in time to see a package delivered at the main news store, where sporting goods could also be purchased. Paul Kramer's was a place most beloved among the boys of Scranton, for the small store held almost everything that was apt to appeal to the heart of the average youth. Besides, all baseball, and in due season, football paraphernalia, as well as hockey sticks, and shin guards, the old storekeeper always carried a well-chosen stock of juvenile fiction in cloth; and those fellows who were fond of spending their spare hours in reading the works of old favorites like Optic and Alger, as well as numerous more recent additions to the ranks of authors, were to be found poring over the contents of numerous book shelves and racks, deciding which volume they would squander their latest quarter for. Then
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