ne," said Rodney
Grant laughingly; "but if I do turn out to be a phenom, I'll owe it to
my mentor, Mr. Philip Springer."

"The team is coming out for practice tonight," said Eliot, "and we'll
give you a chance to pitch for the batters. We've got to work up a
little teamwork before that game Saturday."

The second bell clanged, and, still talking baseball, the boys moved
slowly and reluctantly toward the cool, dark doorway of the academy.
Roy Hooker lingered behind, a pouting, dissatisfied expression upon his
face.

"So they're bound to crowd me out again, are they?" he muttered.
"Well, we'll see what comes of it. If I get a chance, I'll cook that
cowboy for butting in."

CHAPTER II.

BASEBALL PRACTICE.

With the close of the afternoon session, many of the boys, palpitantly
eager to get out onto the field, went racing and shouting, down through
the yard and across the gymnasium, where their baseball suits were
kept. Eliot followed more sedately, yet with quickened step, for he
was not less eager than his more exuberant teammates. Berlin Barker,
slender, cold, and sometimes disposed to be haughty and overbearing,
joined him on his way.

"We'll soon be at it again," said Barker. "The season opens Saturday,
and I have a feeling it's going to be a hot one. It wouldn't surprise
me if we had to play a stiff game in order to take a fall out of
Barville. You know, they developed a strong pitcher in that man
Sanger, the last of the season. Why, he actually held Wyndham down to
three hits in that last game, and Barville would have won only for the
blow-up in the eighth inning."

Roger nodded. "Lee Sanger certainly did good work for Barville after
he hit his pace; but Springer ought to be in good shape for the
opening, not having been compelled to pitch his wing stiff, the way he
did last year."

"Confidentially, Roger," said Berlin, "I've never regarded Springer as
anything great. I wouldn't say this to any one else, for we are good
friends; but I fancy you know his weak points. He's not a stayer; he
never was, and he never will be. With the game coming his way, he's
pretty good--especially so, as long as he can keep the bases clean; but
one or two hits at a critical moment puts him up in the air, and he's
liable to lose his head. Only for the way you steady him down behind
the pan, he'd never show up half as well as he does."

Now, this was a truth which no one knew better than Eliot himself,
alt