he slab, as
you did. You'll make up for that next time."

"You're very kind, Grant," was Springer's only response.

Phil got away from the others as soon as he could, and hurried home to
brood over it. It had been a hard blow, and he had stood up poorly
beneath it. Thinking the matter over in solitude, he was forced into a
realization of the fact that he lacked, in a great measure, the
confidence and steadiness characteristic of Rodney Grant, and he could
not put aside the conviction that it was Grant, the fellow he had
coached, who was destined to become the star pitcher of the nine. In
spite of himself, this thought, aided by other unpleasant
contemplations, awoke in his heart a sensation of envious resentment
toward Rodney. He was sorry now that he had ever spent his time
teaching the Texan to pitch, and it occurred to him that the same
amount of coaching and encouragement bestowed upon Hooker would not
have resulted in the training of a man to outdo him upon the slab and
push him into the background.

That evening he was missing from the group of boys who gathered in the
village to talk over the game, and at school the following Monday he
kept away from Grant as much as it was possible for him to do so. When
practice time came after school was over, he put on his suit and
appeared upon the field, but soon complained that he was not feeling
well, and departed.

The following morning, shortly after breakfast, Phil saw Rod turning
into the dooryard of his home. Instantly Springer sought his hat,
slipped hastily through the house and got out, unperceived, by the back
door. When he arrived at school, a few minutes before time for the
morning session to begin, Grant was waiting for him.

"What became of you after breakfast, partner?" questioned Rod. "I
piked over to your ranch looking for you, but you had disappeared.
Your mother said you were around a few moments before, and she thought
you must be somewhere about; all the same, I couldn't find hide or hair
of you."

"I--I took a walk," faltered Phil, flushing. "I've got a bub-bad
cold." In evidence of which, he coughed in a shamefully unnatural
manner.

"Got a cold, eh?" said Rodney sympathetically. "You caught it sitting
on the bench during the last four innings of that game, I reckon. I
remember now that you didn't even put on your sweater."

"Yes, I guess that's when I got it," agreed Phil.

"Well, you've got to shake it in time for the game