. Here it is time to call the game, and the visiting team two men
short! And the biggest crowd of the season here! Can you beat that for
luck?"

The Camden pitcher separated himself from his companions and strolled
toward the stand.

"Anybody here want to put on a mitt and stop a few fast ones?" he
inquired.

"That means you, Jim!" said Lane. "Come on! Don't be too modest!"

Spurling climbed out over the front of the stand.

"I'll try to hold you for a little while," he volunteered.

Soon he was smoothly receiving the pitcher's curves and lobbing them
back. The combination went like clockwork. In the mean time the rest of
the Camden team had taken the field and were warming up. The missing
members had not yet appeared.

"That'll do for a while," said the pitcher.

The two drew to one side.

"What team have you been catching on?" asked the Camden man, suddenly.

"Graffam Academy."

"I knew you must have traveled with a pretty speedy bunch. My name's
Beverage."

"Mine's Spurling."

"Say, old man, I want you to do us a big favor. Catch this game for
Camden, will you?"

"I've been out of practice for over a month," objected Jim.

"Never mind about that! I don't mean to flatter you, but we've got
nothing in this league that can touch you. Come, now! As a personal
favor to me!"

"All right. I'll do my best."

"Good for you! Now we've got to pick up a third-baseman!"

Jim hesitated.

"Our Academy shortstop is here," he said, slowly. "He can play a mighty
good third at a pinch."

"If he's willing, we'll take him on your say-so, and snap at the
chance."

Jim walked to the front of the stand.

"You're signed for third for this game, Budge! I'm going to catch."

"We've got a couple of spare suits," said Beverage. "Come on over to the
hotel and change."

In fifteen minutes Lane and Spurling were back on the field in Camden
uniforms and the game had begun.

The contest was a hot one. The teams were evenly matched, and the result
hung in doubt up to the last inning. The crowd boiled with enthusiasm
and the supporters of each team cheered themselves hoarse.

In the middle of the fifth inning, when the excitement was running
highest, a slim, bareheaded figure with a tow pompadour sprouting above
a fog-burnt face leaped suddenly up at the right end of the top row in
the stand.

It was Percy. Exhilarated by the closeness of the game, he had forgotten
his grudge against Spurling & Company. He flourish