o the
rotten luck. You know I told you at the field that I'd bet my last red
on Clearport. Why didn't Eliot put you in to pitch? If he had, you
could have saved my money for me without----"

"Look here, Rack," interrupted Roy hotly, "if that's the kind of a chap
you think I am you've got me sized up wrong. I know I gave you money
once to bet against Oakdale, but I'd never throw a game for you or
anybody else."

"Oh, well," sneered Herbert, "it isn't likely you'll have a chance. I
notice Eliot didn't let you pitch, after all. He doesn't take any
stock in you. Now don't get hot with me, for we're friends. If I'd
bought a return ticket I'd be all right, but----"

"I'm going back on the train with the team," said Hooker. "Came over
on my motorcycle. I'll let you have that. It will take you home all
right."

Rackliff looked still more weary. "I detest the thing," he said.
"Come, old chap----"

"I've got only money enough for my own fare," said Roy. "You'll find
riding my motorcycle better than walking."

"That's right," sighed Herbert resignedly. "I'll take it."

CHAPTER XIX.

POISON SPLEEN.

Phil Springer returned to Oakdale in a wretched frame of mind. Barely
had the train carried him out of Clearport before he began to regret
his hasty action in running away, but it was then too late to turn back.

"I suppose some of the fellows will think it rotten of me to sneak," he
muttered, "but the game was practically over, and there was no reason
why I shouldn't get back home as soon as I could. Why should I hang
round just for the pleasure of making the return trip with the rest of
the bub-bunch and being forced to listen to their praise of Rod Grant
for his fine work! They'll slobber over him, all right. He's the star
now, and I--I who taught him everything he knows about pitching--I am
the second string man! I won't be that! I won't be anything! I'm
done!"

He was not a little surprised as he stepped off the train to find it
was not raining, although the sky was still heavy and threatening, as
if the downpour might come at any moment.

"It certainly is coming down in Clearport, just the same. It had begun
before I hiked. Hiked! I hate that word; Grant uses it. Clearport is
nineteen miles away, and it frequently rains there when it doesn't
here."

He hurried over the bridge and up through the village toward his home.

"Hi, there, Phil!" cried a voice as he was passing the postoff