s a dandy at this sort of baseball. I happen to know just
what he is, and a fellow who'll do what he's dud-done to win this game
hasn't any right to pitch on a respectable nine."

"You're dotty. Look here, you better be careful about shooting off
that sort of talk, or you may have a chance to prove it."

"I can bub-back up anything I've said," declared Phil, now thoroughly
aroused. "I'm dead onto the whole dirty deal. If I should tell Roger
Eliot what I know you'd sus-see a change in the complexion of this game
in short order."

"Oh, really!" scoffed the incredulous Wyndhamite. "If you know so
much, why don't you tell it? If you know anything that amounts to
anything, you'll tell it--unless you're crooked yourself."

That cut deeply, and Springer choked back further heated words which
were boiling to his lips. What right had he to rail against Newbert?
Under the circumstances, his failure to warn his former teammates made
him fully as dishonest and deserving of contempt as the Wyndham
pitcher--far more so. The white anger of his face turned to a crimson
flush of shame.

Silenced, he saw Wyndham, ready to block the hit and run, take Cooper's
zipping grounder and turn into a double play what possibly might
otherwise have been a safety. In that moment Springer's mind was made
up, and he immediately left his seat on the bleachers.

"I'll tell Eliot the truth at any cost," he muttered.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

WHEN THE SIGNALS WERE CHANGED.

While Phil Springer was making his way round to the Oakdale side of the
field an accident took place. The first Wyndham batter to face Grant
in that inning hit the ball squarely and hard, driving it on a dead
line toward the pitcher, but a trifle to his right. Grant might have
dodged, but, instead of that, he tried to catch that red-hot liner with
his bare right hand, and the ball split two of his fingers.
Nevertheless, he stopped it, caught it up with his left hand when it
fell to the ground, and tossed it to Sile Crane at first in time for a
put-out.

Rod showed his blood-streaming hand to the umpire, who promptly called
"time." Then the Texan walked toward the bench, Eliot running to join
him.

"How bad are you hurt, old man?" asked the captain anxiously.

"I don't know," was the answer. "Didn't know I was hurt at all until I
saw the claret spouting; reckoned my paw was benumbed a bit, and that
was all."

But when water was poured over those bleeding finge