r!"

* * * * *

"You go into the box," said Chub to Kirby, "and for goodness sake hold
'em down, old man! Post, you go out to center, will you? Who've we got
for first, sir?"

And Chub turned in perplexity to Mr. Cobb.

"Thurlow; let Reynolds take his place at third."

Chub groaned.

"Maybe I'd better try it myself, sir. And let Reynolds take second."

But Mr. Cobb shook his head.

"Won't do," he answered. "You're needed where you are."

"All right. Where's Reynolds? Hello, Roy! Isn't this the limit? If only
you hadn't been such an idiot!"

"Why?" asked Roy, his face one broad smile.

"Why? Why! Oh, go to thunder! Because if you were playing first we
wouldn't be in such a hole, that's why."

"I'm going to," answered Roy.

"Going to what?"

"Play first, if you want me to."

"Want you to!" shouted Chub. "But what about Emmy?"

"He's given me permission. Horace has 'fessed up. It's all right."

Chub hugged him violently and deliriously.

"Oh, good boy!" he cried. "It's all right, sir!" he called to Mr. Cobb.
"We won't need Reynolds. Porter's going to play!"

Mr. Cobb hurried across from the bench and nearly wrenched Roy's hand
off.

"Doctor willing, is he? That's good! That's fine! Do your best, Porter,
do your best. Eaton's a bit discouraged, but I tell him it's not over
till the whistle--that is, till the umpire--er--Well, good luck!" And
the coach hurried over to the scorer to arrange the new batting list.

"Come on, fellows!" cried Chub. "Let's win this old game right here!"

And Ferry Hill trotted out to the field for the first of the eighth.

CHAPTER XXVII

THE CRIMSON SWEATER DISAPPEARS

"Seven to three," muttered Roy as, drawing his big leather mitten on, he
stepped to the base and held his hands out toward Kirby. "That's four to
make up to tie them." _Sock_ came a ball against the hollow of his mitt.
"If Kirby does his part, though, and they don't get any more runs, we've
got a chance." Back went the ball to the new pitcher and once more it
flew across to Roy. "If I wasn't surprised when Emmy sent for me! 'There
seems to have been a mistake made, Porter. I trust I have not discovered
it too late for the success of the nine. If you are wanted, take a hand,
and good luck to you. Come and see me after supper, please.' 'What it
means--(I beg pardon, Kirb; my fault!)--I don't know; unless Horace told
on himself; he was there looking kind of down in