Front matter (continued 4)

For some seconds Rob sat looking blankly at the door through which the self-satisfied face of Payner had just disappeared. Then he threw back his head and laughed loud and long.

CHAPTER XXIV

MAKING READY

In the next Wednesday's game, O'Connell and Borland composed the school battery, and on the following Saturday, Patterson and Owen. O'Connell won his game; Patterson lost his. And none the less, after the second game, Poole let it be definitely known that Patterson and Owen were now considered the regular battery. This decision was not based on the scores.

O'Connell won his game because he played against an inferior team, whose pitcher the Seaton men could hit. Patterson lost an uphill game against a clever pitcher whom his men could do little with, while the Seaton players behind him failed to support him at critical moments. O'Connell's friends maintained that the results of the two games showed the comparative merits of the pitchers. Lyford and Poole took the opposite view. Patterson at two several points had saved his game when there were men on third and second with but one out. It was lost in the seventh, after a two-base hit and an error had put men on first and third, and another error permitted one of them to reach the home plate; but the very play through which the game was lost enhanced Owen's reputation. It happened thus:—

With members of the visiting team on first and third, and one man out, Rob, who had analyzed a similar situation more than once before, made up his mind that the man on first base would try to steal at the earliest opportunity; first, because against a school team like Seaton there was more than an even chance that a double steal would rattle the catcher and bring in a run; secondly, because a single with men on second and third would yield two runs, while if the man remained at first it would score but one. So Rob signalled to his infield, and called on Patterson for a wide, unreachable out. The ball came true, while the runner on first started hard down, and Rob snapped in a straight line for second, which Hayes ran to cover; but McPherson, who had his eye on the runner at third, seeing him start for home, ran in behind Patterson, cut off Owen's throw to second, and shot the ball back home. So far the play had been perfectly carried out.

Unhappily, however, its very perfection interfered with its success. Rob and McPherson had done their work so rapidly that the base-runner was only about halfway between third and home when Rob received the ball at the plate. The runner stopped and turned back. Rob ran down toward him and threw to Durand. The man doubled again, and Durand—trusty, capable, but over-eager Durand—returned the ball about a foot above Owen's reach, while Patterson, who should have been backing up the catcher in the line behind, stood halfway over from his box gazing fascinated at the play.

So at the same time the game was lost and the catcher glorified—at least in the eyes of those who knew what it meant to have a man behind the bat who could keep the game in hand, recognize opportunities when they came, and perform his part in the plays. Poole and Lyford belonged to this number, and most of the members of the nine. Poole was inclined to be obstinate, and he disliked to be proved wrong; but when once satisfied that he was wrong, he turned promptly and finally about. From this time forth there was no more uncertainty about the catcher in Poole's mind. He was for Owen through and through, without wavering or question. Borland must give way to a better man.

But there were many who could not follow the captain in his change of view; who, in fact, could see no sufficient reason why the old catcher who had proved himself competent should be laid aside for a new man. The "inside work" of a catcher is not apparent to the occupants of the bleachers; they cannot measure accurately the comparative merits of two men playing in different games; they do not count assists. When Borland made his three-base hit in a game in which his battery played, his friends made sarcastic comment: "That's the man who couldn't hit well enough for the First!" When in the next game Patterson pitched an in instead of the out that was called for, and Owen, after losing time in getting the ball still tried to catch the runner at second, and sent a short bound at McPherson's toes, the same critics added: "—and that's the star thrower who put poor Jack out of play. The old man could do better than that with his eyes shut!" These, let it be understood, were Borland's friends. Borland himself never said a word.

The Hillbury game drew on apace, and the nine settled to its work. The play was improving; the infield was coming, quick and true, the men trusting each other and working well together under the catcher's direction. Patterson had learned to value himself aright. Throughout the school the doubters had grown fewer as the days went by. Poole paid no attention at all to them, but Rob knew of their existence and understood full well how their number would be suddenly multiplied by ten if he should disappoint the hopes of the school in the great game. To lose a Hillbury game is a calamity; the single man who loses it by a single error is unforgivable.

And yet to win under the circumstances seemed more than the school had a right to expect. There had never been a poor nine in Hillbury since school nines began to be. This year the blue team was largely veteran, with the identical pitcher who had last year mown down the Seaton hitters as a well-aimed bowling ball clears away the pins from their triangle. The scores of the nines which had played with the two school teams compared unfavorably for Poole's team. Patterson, a mere green apprentice, was a wholly uncertain quantity. Such considerations fairly weighed gave little promise to the Seatonians; but in the Seaton breast hope springs eternal, and a game may always be won until it is actually lost.

A week before the game, the whole school journeyed to Hillbury for the track meet. Before the contests both sides had counted probabilities. According to Seaton reckoning, if Rohrer beat Royce in the high hurdles, and Benton won the half mile, and Laughlin and Lindsay took seven out of eight points in the shot-put, Seaton would have twelve points to spare. By Hillbury count, only accidents could keep the blue from beating the red by at least twenty. Each side regarded the results as ominous for the more important contest of the following Saturday.

And that was why Seaton took the defeat so to heart. Rohrer did beat Royce in the hurdles, and Laughlin and Lindsay won their seven points; but there were unexpected offsets, and Benton did not even get a place in the half-mile. Six points is not a bad defeat, but any defeat is bad when you expect victory. If omens counted, the ball game was as good as lost.

But Owen's hopes never wavered. He had seen hard games before, games which he had won and games which he had lost; and never had he felt such a spirit of keenness and unity as animated this raw Seaton nine. If Hillbury beat them, Hillbury must play good ball, far better ball than any team which had come that season to Seaton. If only Patterson kept up!

On the Friday before the great day, as the decorations were blossoming out on the houses, and in recitations the game was crowding the lesson matter hard for possession of the minds of the pupils, Poole and Owen were hailed from across the street by Wally.

"Hello, Wally," called Poole, "come over here!"

The boy hastened across.

"Could you get us the seats?" asked Wally.

"Only two," said Poole, "and you'll have to let your father and sister have those."

Wally's countenance fell.

"But as you helped me out of a scrape once, I'm going to pay you back. I'm going to let you have a seat on the players' bench."

"On the players' bench!" cried the delighted lad. "Great Scott! do you mean it?"

Poole laughed and nodded.

"You've got to bring us luck," said Owen.

"Oh, I will," returned the boy, "but you don't need it. You're going to win anyway. I've got my red fire all ready."

"I wish I felt as he does," said Poole, as the boy scampered across the street to inform his friends of his good fortune.

"I do," replied Owen, promptly.

CHAPTER XXV

AS WALLY SAW IT

Proud as a king, and happy as a king rarely is, Wally sat on the players' bench and stared at the throngs pouring in through the entrances and flooding the seats. On the fence over by the woods, like sparrows crowded close on a telegraph wire, was strung a line of twittering and jostling youngsters, let in by a wise manager who preferred to have them safely quiet inside rather than uproariously disorderly without. And every one of the shrill flock sooner or later fastened his eyes on Wally and demanded the reason for their comrade's elevation to the company of the gods.

Such a question must, of course, be answered. Whether the answer is correct or not is of minor consequence. Some said Wally was a mascot; others that Poole was sweet on his sister; while still others were able to give melodramatic accounts of Wally's rescue of the captain from the desperate gang of upper middlers who had "pinched" him. While the argument on these points was going forward, the advance scouts of the fence brigade discovered signs of the arrival of the nines, and Skinny Flick, waving his tattered cap, led a high-pitched imitation of the long Seaton cheer, weirdly shrill and yet true and even and united.

"How can those little boys do it so well?" asked Margaret Sedgwick, amused at the unexpected prelude.

"Practised it, I suppose," replied Mr. Sedgwick, indifferently.

And Wally not being on hand to set forth the true relations of things, Miss Margaret accepted her father's explanation, and gave the soprano cheerers full credit for patriotic forethought. As a matter of fact their facility had been as unconsciously acquired as the street ragtime which a dignified adult is shocked to find himself whistling. The Seaton urchin begins to hear the school cheers as soon as his legs are strong enough to take him where students gather or heroes battle. Classes pass before him as the generations of men before the aged Nestor. There were boys on that fence who could already have repeated the Seaton battle cries when fellows who were now leaders of elevens and nines in Yale and Harvard and Princeton and Dartmouth had just set foot in the Seaton streets. The gamin's term of instruction is long; so the cheer from the fence had the true ring.

It was likewise well timed. A minute later the four cheer-leaders on the Seaton side were swinging their arms and swaying their bodies in a convulsion of energy, as they led in the first great welcome to their team; while at the heels of the Seaton players came the Hillbury nine, waking into enthusiasm the whole solid phalanx of blue. And here unquestionably was the first evil omen for Seaton hopes. Every Hillbury student produced a megaphone and turned it toward the Seaton side; the volume of Hillbury's cheer was multiplied by three. What a handicap! What a depressing evidence of Hillbury superiority!

But something more than noise was necessary to depress Wally; his optimism was not to be extinguished by megaphones. The Seaton players went out for their preliminary practice. Lyford batted to the outfield, Borland to the in-; Rob stood at the plate, caught the returns, and joined in the cross-diamond throwing. Lyford was directing the practice, but even Wally could see how the infield followed the catcher's leading and instinctively looked for his suggestion. Nor was this remarkable. The players were feeling the strain of the situation. Sudbury had just missed an easy fly that he ought to have held; Hayes had made a bad mess of a grounder; Durand had sent a ball to first that had defied Ames's long reach. Nervousness was in the air, but Owen stood smiling and steady, taking the balls with an easy grace that had in it no sign of ostentation, throwing straight and swift, cheering into confidence by his very presence and attitude. "We've got an awfully good catcher, anyway," thought Wally, proudly, as he squirmed on the seat and tried at the same time to watch all the Seaton fielders, and the Hillbury players tossing the ball to and fro near their bench, and the two captains talking with the umpire.

Presently Hillbury took the field and Wally now had a harder task, for there were the Hillbury men to be observed and compared with their predecessors, while Patterson was warming up with Owen over by the backstop, and must have sympathetic attention. Rob had borrowed Ames's mitt to use as a plate, and over this Patterson was pitching, unsteady at first with the tension of the strange conditions, but soon settling down under Owen's soothing guidance. When Rob found that his pitcher had himself sufficiently in hand to be able to place the ball pretty accurately over one side of the mitt or the other, he called to him to stop.

"You're all right, Pat!" he declared, dropping his arm on his companion's shoulder as they walked back to join their mates on the bench. "It's all there; you'll pitch your best game to-day. Don't hurry now, and don't worry; and don't forget to back up first whenever you can get over there."

Patterson nodded; there was nothing for him to say. He was content to leave the results in Owen's hands.

"We go out!" announced Poole, coming up with a smile on his face. "All ready, Pat?"

Patterson gave a sign of assent. "Yes, he's ready," said Owen. "Here's your mitt, Ames. This is one of the days when we can cut it every time."

The Hillbury players came in, the Seatonians scattered to their positions. The supporters cheered for their school and their captain; then for the captain of the other team. 'Tis a fine custom of the Seaton-Hillbury rivalry which the colleges might well imitate. The Hillbury megaphones bellowed a response. The umpire threw down a new white ball which Patterson coolly scrubbed in the dirt outside the box, while Michael, the head of the Hillbury batting list, took his place by the plate. The game was on!

Owen crouched and signalled with his fingers between his knees. Patterson answered with an out that threatened to strike Michael on the shoulder, but swung in over the inside of the plate. The batsman stepped back and the umpire called a strike. The next one was high and wide and out of reach; Michael did not bite. One ball! For the third effort Patterson stepped to the left and threw a swift one that cut the inside corner of the plate at an angle—or would have cut it, if it had been allowed to take its course. Michael struck at it and knocked it into Patterson's hands. Long Ames had the ball before Michael was halfway down the line.

Hood, the Hillbury shortstop, who had been standing by, swinging two bats like a professional, now strode up, thumped the ground with his chosen stick, and looked valiantly at the pitcher. The first ball, a drop, he struck at and fouled. The second he misjudged and let go by. "Strike Two!" The third and fourth were tempters which he resisted. Then came one which he fancied. With sudden impulse he struck hard at it, but even as he struck, the ball slammed in Owen's trusty mitt.

A strike out! Two men gone! The Seaton cheer-leaders were busy again, and with contorted faces and fierce arm swings goaded on their company of howlers. Hillbury answered with a blast of megaphones, as Coy, their centre fielder, appeared at the plate. The first ball pitched appealed to him; he struck at it and sent a low bounder toward third. For just an instant Durand juggled it and then threw straight to Ames, but Coy was fast and the umpire called him safe.

Kleindienst, the Hillbury captain, came up, eager to make a hit that would help the runner round the bases. Thanks to Poole's note-book, and information gathered from many sources, Owen knew what to call for. The first pitch was a swift breast-high ball off the inner corner of the plate; Kleindienst smote and smote in vain. "Now Coy will steal," thought Rob, and signalled for an out. Coy did steal and Kleindienst tried to hit at the same time, but all he succeeded in accomplishing was to catch the ball on the end of his bat and drive it in easy bounds to Ames, making the third out.

"You've got to get a hit, Mac," said Poole, as McPherson picked up his bat. "Don't bite at the teasers. Make 'em put 'em over!"

Now McPherson meant to do that very thing, but the first one was so plausible that even though it wasn't just what he wanted, McPherson could not resist the temptation to try it. The result was a pop foul that Kleindienst gathered in off third base.

Poole was second on the list, and Poole waited; one ball! two balls! a foul! three balls! two strikes! At the next Poole dropped his bat and started for first, and the umpire did not say him nay.

And now it was Owen's turn to face O'Brien, and he tried to sacrifice, but the bunt rolled over the line, and his attempt came to naught. O'Brien was careful now, and gave him high balls that he could not bunt, and kept them well out of his reach. Two had been called balls and one a strike, when Rob's chance came. The ball was a trifle too far in, but he drew back a little as he struck, and drove a liner over second baseman's head out into the ground between centre and right. Poole went to third, and Rob was safe at second.

It was Rorbach's turn. He knew what he was expected to do without the spur implied in the sudden roar of greeting from the benches, followed by tense, expectant silence. O'Brien sought to work him with seductive outs, but Rorbach waited. Three balls and one strike brought the pitcher to reason; he couldn't afford to pass a man with two on bases. So Rorbach got one where he could hit it, and lifted the ball in a splendid long arch far out into right field. The cheer-leaders caught their breath and, forgetful of their duties, silently watched it fly. Was it a home run? It would have been if some one else than Furness had guarded the Hillbury right field. Furness started almost as soon as the ball, and racing backward toward the fence, turned as the ball was just going over his head and pulled it down. Rorbach was out, but Poole came home easily on the throw-in, and Owen wisely paused at third.

Long Ames now appeared at the plate, brandishing his bat in the clumsy fashion which had aroused so much merriment along the benches in that first game of the season. No one made merry over it to-day. The anxious Hillburyites thought only of the possibility of another hit, while the Seatonians' hopes now hung on the derided man's bat. And Ames, who cared nothing whether they derided or not, fixed his eyes on the pitcher and waited. One he let go by without offering at it; the second he fouled; the next proved a second ball, the fourth another strike. Still he waited, clutching his bat a hand's-breadth from the end, with his lank figure bent awkwardly forward toward the plate. The fifth pitch was to his liking; with a short, quick stroke he chopped the ball in a safe little liner over third baseman's head, and galloped away to first, while Owen gleefully trotted home. Then Durand went out on an infield hit, and the first inning was over.

Such luck, of course, could not last, but the exhilaration engendered by these two runs carried the Seaton players safely through several innings. The second, with the tail-end of the list at bat on either side, was quickly over. In the third Poole led off with a hit, reaching second on an error, but got no farther. In the fourth sprinter Coy got to first on balls, but was thrown out by two yards when he tried to steal second; and the Hillbury captain, after making a clean hit, was forced at second by Webster's unlucky drive to Hayes, which resulted in a double play. By this time O'Brien had settled down into his best gait, and his best Poole's company found far too good.

On the other hand, Hillbury seemed to be finding Patterson less puzzling. The Seaton fielders had work a-plenty. In the sixth Poole ran far back for a long fly from Michael's bat, cutting off what to the uproarious rooters on the Hillbury side seemed surely a three-base hit; and Hood's hard liner, that promised almost as much, was gloriously taken just inside third by Durand. The third Hillburyite hit over Ames's head, and reached second only to be left there when his successor was retired on a foul fly. The Seatonians in their turn went tamely out in order; not a single one reached first.

A thrill of apprehension passed through the ranks of red and gray as Webster opened the seventh with a slow grounder to Hayes, which the Seaton shortstop fumbled. Two runs are not great margin when a heavy-hitting team opens up on a pitcher, especially if that pitcher be, like Patterson, comparatively inexperienced. A couple of good hits, with an error or two and a base on balls, would quickly wipe out the slight advantage. Only steady playing and the steadiest kind of pitching could save the game, if the Hillbury sluggers showed themselves at all equal to their reputation. So thought many a timid Seaton sympathizer, whose hopes of victory had been excited by the success of the first inning. Wally was not of these doubters. He knew full well that a man who reaches first does not necessarily reach second or third. Webster was at first; the only question was how and where he was to be stopped.

Now Wally did not see Owen signal to Ames, nor recognize the object of the swift, wide ball which Patterson next threw; but he did see Owen's arm come back like a spring and snap instantly forward; he likewise saw Ames gather in the ball and swing with it suddenly on Webster, who was leaping back to first; and he understood well the gesture by which the umpire called Webster in. The Seaton crowd shouted with unexpected joy, but Wally's surprise was only partial; he had expected to see the runner thrown out at second.

Then Ribot struck under one of Patterson's jumps and sent the ball far up in the air. Rob snatched off his mask and watched the returning sphere, relieved to see it descending on McPherson's side of second. Ribot was out, and O'Brien brought the inning to a close by giving Durand a chance at another pop fly.

The Seaton hitters had no better luck. Hayes got his base on balls, but Patterson forced him at second, and was himself put out on the play, while McPherson flied out. Here was little encouragement for those who looked for more Seaton runs!

Furness started the eighth with a drive past second, which by bounding over Sudbury's shoulder enabled the runner to make two bases. Rounds, the last man of the Hillbury list, was counted an easy victim, but instead of striking out as he was expected to do, he hit the ball over Durand's head. Poole got it back in season to cut off any attempt at crossing the plate, but the awful fact remained that with only two runs needed to tie the score, Hillbury had men on first and third, with no one out and the heavy hitters coming on. A double now would bring in two men. Even Wally acknowledged to himself that he did not see how they were going to get out of that hole, while the dubious on the Seaton benches were sadly thinking that the game was lost. The fatal eighth was here!

A ball! two balls! Then Michael's bat cracked and the ball shot toward Hayes, struck well, and bounded into his hands. He gave but a glance at third—where Furness was lingering, hoping to draw a hasty throw to the plate, and so get Michael safely to first—then threw to McPherson, who had covered second. Rounds was thus forced out. Meantime Furness had made a late start for home, trusting to McPherson's slowness and probable confusion. But McPherson, who was neither slow nor confused, sent the ball directly to the plate, where Owen received it safely. Furness, while still ten feet away, stopped and wheeled about; but Owen ran him down, then turned sharply, steadied himself, and drove the ball with all his strength to McPherson. Michael had passed first on the plays and was sliding into second; the ball in McPherson's hands touched him before he reached the base.

In a fraction of a minute it was all over. The umpire was signalling to Michael that he was out; Poole and Rorbach had started in from their positions; Owen was unbuckling his protector. Still Patterson stood and stared, unable to believe that his rescue was complete. And then, like the explosion set off by an electric spark, the audience waked to the situation. The whole Seaton company rose en masse, waving arms and hats and banners, and sent forth a formless, exultant roar; while the recreant cheer-leaders turned their backs on their chorus and danced frantic jigs before the benches.

So ended the first half of the eighth, with the score two to nothing. The Seatonians were soon disposed of. Poole, over-eager, struck out. Owen hit to O'Brien and was thrown out at first. Rorbach made a pretty single into centre field, but came to grief when he tried to stretch it into a two-bagger. Hillbury came in for the last trial!

"Only three outs!" thought Wally, complacently. "Only three outs now!" ran the whisper along the Seaton benches, but expressed in timid hope rather than in confidence. Runs might precede those outs; these Hillbury men could not forever be checked on the bases. The courage rose when Hood sent Durand an easy chance, and was out at first. Then Coy bunted safely, and took second when Patterson threw wide to Ames. Kleindienst hit to Patterson, and was put out at first, while Coy was held on second. Two out, but a man on second! The spectators drew labored breaths; the cheer-leaders on either side, fearing to add to the strain upon their champions, hung silent on the scene before them.

Webster, after two balls and two strikes, caught one on the end of his bat and sent it just out of Hayes's reach. On this scratch hit Coy was advanced to third. Again men on first and third, this time with two out! Ribot was at bat, nerved and resolute; and Rob felt a dread—almost a conviction—that a ball within his reach would be hit safely. On the other hand, in the desperate situation in which Hillbury stood, Webster was bound to steal, so as to make two runs possible in case of a hit. Patterson waited for his catcher's signal. The game hinged on Owen's decision. An error in judgment, a fault in execution, and the peril which had been warded off for nine long innings would be upon them. A tie at this stage, Rob knew, would mean defeat.

He called for a swift, wide ball. Webster feinted a start, hoping to draw a useless throw to second that would let Coy in. Rob hesitated, took a step forward, and pretended to throw; then wheeled and sent the ball to Durand. Coy was nailed as he scrambled back to the base—and the game was won.

The score:—

Seaton

ab r bh po a e

McPherson, 2b 4 0 1 4 3 0

Poole, lf 3 1 2 2 0 0

Owen, c 4 1 1 4 4 0

Rorbach, rf 4 0 1 1 0 0

Ames, 1 b 3 0 1 10 0 0

Durand, 3 b 3 0 1 4 1 1

Sudbury, cf 3 0 0 1 0 0

Hayes, ss 2 0 0 1 3 1

Patterson, p 3 0 0 0 3 1

— — — — — —

Totals 29 2 7 27 14 3

Hillbury

ab r bh po a e

Michael, lf 4 0 0 1 0 0

Hood, ss 4 0 0 2 3 0

Coy, cf 3 0 2 1 1 0

Kleindienst, 3 b 4 0 0 1 2 1

Webster, 1 b 4 0 3 11 0 0

Ribot, c 3 0 0 4 0 0

O'Brien, p 3 0 0 1 3 0

Furness, rf 3 0 1 1 0 0

Rounds, 2 b 3 0 1 2 2 1

— — — — — —

Totals 31 0 7 24 11 2

Seaton 2 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 —2 Hillbury 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0—0

CHAPTER XXVI

RECOGNITION

Was there a celebration?

Ask Wally Sedgwick, who ought to be able to furnish a detailed account of it, for he followed the procession from its formation, and having stayed out an hour longer than the time set in the parental permission was in consequence compelled to go to bed at seven every day during the following week. He didn't complain; it was inconvenient, of course; but, after all, the celebration was worth it.

Rob saw three of the newspaper accounts of the game. The first paper, which had previously predicted an easy victory for Hillbury, declared that Seaton played in great luck, "bunching hits for tallies and being helped out of several deep holes by stupid Hillbury base-running." The second asserted that the victory was due to "Patterson's steadiness and the fine all-round work of the Seaton infield, in which McPherson was the bright and particular star." The third, after commenting on the fact that Hillbury men were frequently on bases but seemed unable to get round to the home plate, added: "Patterson showed himself, if not a great pitcher, at least one who can use his head as well as his arm. Men on bases never fazed him; the more there were, the better he pitched. Coach Lyford deserves great credit for the excellent team work. Owen threw well to bases."

Owen threw well to bases! And only one paper had discovered that! Rob laughed scornfully as he tossed the papers down. So this trifling mention was all the glory his achievement was to yield him. For a moment he felt hurt—but only for a moment. Soon his good sense and natural modesty reasserted themselves. He had not sought glory; he had not striven to display himself. His ambition had been first to help win the game for Seaton and then to vindicate himself as against Borland. Both these objects had been attained; what more could he fairly ask? Poole and Patterson and Lyford evidently appreciated his work; his friends and acquaintances, from Lindsay and Laughlin down through a whole range to the Pecks and the Moons and even Payner, had all, in one form or another, expressed to him their admiration. That ought to satisfy him.

"Who's going to be captain next year, Rob?" asked Simmons, a few days afterward.

"I don't know yet—probably McPherson. He's been two years on the nine, and after that bully game he put up on Saturday, he deserves it."

"The fellows were saying it would be McPherson," said Simmons, looking up into Rob's face with an expression of keen regret. "I was hoping you'd get it. You know so much about the game, and have helped them all so."

Rob flushed. The suggestion touched him in a sensitive spot. "Nonsense!" he retorted sharply. "What put that idea into your head? I'm no better than any one else. For heaven's sake don't suggest that to any one outside; they'd think it came from me."

On his way over to the baseball meeting that afternoon Rob was waylaid by Laughlin and Ware who insisted that they had something important to say to him.

"Well, what is it?" demanded Rob.

"You're coming back next year, aren't you?" asked Ware.

"Of course, if they'll let me," Owen replied in a tone of surprise. "Why?"

"We were just talking about the prospects of the teams for next year," said Ware, smiling shrewdly. "When our class goes, there'll be a pretty big hole to fill."

"Oh, a few poor sticks will be left," Owen observed sarcastically. "In baseball McPherson and Ames and Patterson and I form quite a bunch. Then there's Hendry and Milliken and Buist as a foundation for the eleven. They're about as good as you find 'em. Rohrer and Wolfe are pretty respectable left-overs for the track. If any one can get new material out, Rohrer can. We might be worse off."

"That's a fact," nodded Laughlin. "You've got two good captains in Hendry and Rohrer anyway."

"And McPherson will be just as good," added Rob, promptly. "That makes three."

"Yes, that makes three," repeated Laughlin, with a look of amusement stealing over his broad face. "Only I'm not so sure about McPherson."

"Well, the baseball men are, and we ought to know," retorted Rob. "What's this important thing you wanted to tell me?" he added, turning on Ware.

Ware grinned across at Laughlin. "What was it, Dave? I can't think, can you?"

"I'm sure I don't know," replied the football man.

"Here! let me through!" commanded Rob, who now perceived that the pair were holding him up for their own amusement. "I'm ten minutes late for the meeting already." And he charged past the two triflers toward the room at the end of the corridor.

"You're late!" declared Poole, as Rob opened the door of Number 7. "The election's over."

"I'm sorry. Dave and Ware tackled me outside and wouldn't let me by."

"Your vote wouldn't have been any use, anyway," remarked Durand. "It was a unanimous vote."

"All right, then," said Rob, looking round at the row of smiling faces. He didn't see why they should all grin so and stare at him. "I'm with the rest."

"Glad to hear it," said Poole, with a wink at his neighbor. "Here's the result."

Rob took the slip of paper and read with a thrill of astonishment and joy that for a few seconds deprived him of the power of speech:—

"Unanimous choice for Captain of the Nine—Robert Owen."

And here we leave our embarrassed catcher vainly struggling for fitting words in which to express his gratitude. His experiences as a Seaton senior, with the vicissitudes of the captains three, are recorded in the chronicles of "The Great Year."