During the second week in June, the week of final preparation for the trip to Jefferson and the first of the three championship games with Jefferson, final examinations interfered to some extent with the baseball practice, but by getting out on the field very early in the morning and late in the afternoon, with here and there a special shifting of the examination hour, for this or that member of the team, the nine put in a pretty busy week.

Coach Young had returned from Jefferson with a complete confirmation of the early reports about the nine that Captain Church had developed in the western college, and letters kept coming in daily from alumni in the west, sounding the warning that Hughie and his boys must “prepare for the battle of their lives,” as Church had built up a wonderful baseball machine—one that it would be the greatest task to beat.

This talk had its effect on the Lowell boys, and Hughie and Captain Larke were a good deal worried. After a consultation they decided to telegraph to Johnny McGrew, Conny McGil and Pop Anderson to come on to act as assistant coaches and help put on the finishing touches. Most of the time was put in signal and batting practice, as all other games were out of the way. The coaches figured that with equal ability in the pitching department the batting would win the games, if backed up by perfect team work, which only a thorough understanding of the signals could make possible.

Finally the great day came for the trip to the western college. A special train of twelve cars was provided and with the cheers of all of the students that couldn’t go along, professors and the townspeople, ringing in their ears, they started.

The team occupied a special coach in the rear of the train, and no one not a member of the Varsity was allowed in the car, excepting of course, special coaches, Young, McGrew, McGil and Pop Anderson. With these surrounding them in the car, Hughie, Captain and Johnny laid out the plan of the coming battle.

They had their own private chef aboard, the same who prepared the meals at the training table, so that with the exception of riding across the country at the rate of sixty miles per hour, they were as comfortable and fully as much under training orders as at home. The other cars on the train were occupied by the great body of students who made the journey with the team to attend the game, three coaches being filled with the Lowell Organized Noise Club. All along the route, whenever the train stopped, and they made stops all along the line to take on Lowell Alumni—there were crowds of Lowell graduates at the station to cheer and wish them Godspeed.

We will turn our attention, however, to the special car at the end of the train with the nine.

There is nothing like a long railroad journey to get you acquainted with people and to give you a chance to note the peculiarities of the others in the car and this would be especially true in the car referred to where everyone was interested in one thing. Every man on the train felt that the result might depend upon him. The good batters would wonder if their favorite sticks were aboard.

Ty Robb, quiet and nattily dressed, high strung, nervous, built like a greyhound, with slight waist and magnificently formed shoulders, small ankles and wrists and a poise to his head like the ideal Grecian youth, came as near being a perfect built athlete as any one on the train; but even this well-balanced youth was not above being superstitious, for he got a little bit nervous along about bedtime, and finally hunted up his little old black bat out of the bunch and took it to bed with him.

Hans, directly opposite in temperament, ponderous in his movements, anything but nervous, but equally superstitious, saw Ty coming down the aisle with his bat and went him one better, for in addition to getting his favorite bat, he dug out his old glove—the one with the hole in the middle—and slept that night with it under his pillow.

Captain Larke had no superstitions to bother him, nor was he nervous. His responsibilities as captain of the team never in any way interfered with his playing. His movements were always graceful and he had an eye that was particularly clear when it came to judging the speed of baseballs knocked out to left field. One habit, however, of college boy life, the captain never would acquire. He was born in Kansas and ever since he could remember he had owned a big cowboy hat and the college boy’s cap was so insignificant by comparison that he never would wear one of them. Larke’s hat was a kind of mascot with him, no doubt, for he always kept it on such trips as this where he could keep his eye on it when not on his head.

Johnny Everson, small in physique, but large in brains, self-possessed and confident at all times, had made one of his nice little speeches to the boys at dinner, and when he went to bed he wasn’t thinking about bats, balls or gloves or worrying about the part he might have to play on the morrow. He lay awake in his berth a long time, however, rehearsing the impromptu speech he intended to make at the dinner which he knew the Jefferson boys would give the team whether the game was won or lost.

Hughie had a good many things to think about so he didn’t get much time to let superstition work. He was busy with his batting order and signals for the coming game, but just before going to sleep he did wonder if the grass at Jefferson was longer and thicker at third base or at first.

Delvin, like a number of the older fellows on the team, had made the trip before and was not unfamiliar with sleeping cars. Delvin was a grand fellow almost all the time, quiet, and a great reader and he rarely ever kicked about anything. But put him on board a sleeper and along about bedtime you could always hear him grumble, and no wonder, for there never was a berth made long enough to accommodate all of his length, and so he had to curl up when he slept on a train and during the night Arthur woke up the whole bunch several times with his grumbling.

Gibbs, big, strong, and brainy as lots of these boys are who came from Canada, was pretty tired from the long ride with no activity, and at bedtime went to bed and to sleep with no apparent thought of the hard work before him the next day. But during the night he must have dreamed about a ball game, for suddenly the whole car was aroused by the noise of breaking glass and some one was shouting, “You will try to steal on me will you?” and when the boys stuck their heads out from between the curtains they saw Gibbie in one end of the car in pajamas over which he had put on his shin guards, pad, mask, and glove and at the other end of the car could be seen a badly shattered mirror through which Gibbie had just a moment before thrown something. He had been walking in his sleep, and putting on all of his catching outfit had for five minutes been making signals at himself in the glass at the other end of the car. Thinking he saw a base runner, he picked up what he thought was a ball (it was in reality one of Hans’ big shoes), and snapped it at his own image in the mirror beyond. He missed the porter, who happened to be coming down the aisle just then, but made a perfect throw and the shoe went sailing into the mirror. They finally managed to wake him up, but had a hard time doing it, for Gibbie kept saying, “Don’t put me out of the game. I want to catch every game on the schedule this season.”

For Hal the trip was a great novelty. He and the other freshmen had never taken a railroad ride in a private car, and it was a great novelty for them. The ovations the boys received at the different stations were particularly interesting and at most every station the Alumni and friends of Lowell, after shaking hands with the old boys on the team and wishing them good luck, would always ask, “Where’s Case? We want to see Hal and Hans, also Robb and Talkington.” Between stations he read a few short stories for boys as he was always interested in them. Hal was not known to be superstitious and did nothing on going to bed that would show that he was, so it is impossible to write down anything about him here along this line. Hal, however, did wear his cap on the train and just before he went to bed he took a wad of chewing gum out of his mouth and stuck it on the button on the top of his cap. There may have been no superstition connected with that, however. He probably only wanted to put it where he could find it.

Huyler, the utility and pinch hitter, got a new nickname on that ride. They called him the “Candy Kid.” No one knows who started it, but the idea may have been suggested by the numerous confectioners’ signs which dotted the landscape all along the route, and particularly those of one manufacturer whose goods were continually offered by the newsboys on the train.

Black, whose youth was spent in the coal districts of Illinois, was happy because he was on his way to his own state, and whenever they passed a trainload of coal on the way, he would tell the boys what a great business coal mining was. You would not think he would have much love for coal or the mines either, for as a boy he had lost two of the fingers of his right hand by getting his hand caught in some machinery at one of the mines near his home while playing around it. But Miner always said that if he had more than three fingers left on his pitching hand he probably could not throw the kind of curves which he did, but would have to pitch the same as others, and he probably wouldn’t amount to much as a pitcher if he did.

For Babe Radams the ride was one of doubt. He wanted to get into the game the next day but only an accident to Miner would give him a chance, and he thought very likely that he would have to sit on the bench. He wouldn’t think of hoping that Miner would have to be taken out of the box, but he felt confident that he could take care of the job if he got a real chance, and perhaps they would let him pitch the second game, if Lowell won the first. Babe’s thoughts were, however, all for the glory of Lowell and so he really wished that it wouldn’t be necessary to call on him during the first contest. He had acquired a good deal of glory as second pitcher on the team and felt sure that next year he would be the first pitcher for the team, since Miner would be out of school.

Before one o’clock, however, all the excitement had settled down in the car and everybody was asleep. Gibbie had forgotten his troubles and Delvin had quit grumbling, and the rest of the boys were glad, so they slept on undisturbed until the porter awoke them about seven in the morning and told them they had arrived.