want a few words with you, Roger," he said; "I've gug-gug-got
something--something important to--to tell you." He stumbled more than
usual over his words, and his face was very pale; but his manner was
resolute and determined.

A slight frown fell on the face of the Oakdale captain as he turned his
eyes upon the speaker. "What is it, Springer?" he asked almost
repellantly.

"Just sus-step one side a bit so I can tell you without anybody else
hearing," begged Phil.

Roger complied, lending an ear to the startling information Springer
had to impart, but, after his usual composure, retaining his
self-possessed atmosphere to such a degree that scarcely any one who
chanced to be watching them could have dreamed how disturbing that
information really was.

"How do you happen to know about this, Phil?" Eliot asked.

"Don't ask me. I can't tut-tell you now. But it's dead straight,
Roger, and Oakdale hasn't a ghost of a show as long as you continue to
stick by those signals."

"We'll change them right away."

Piper had succeeded in bumping a slow grounder into the diamond, on
which he scudded for first with amazing speed, for he was really a
splendid sprinter. The ball was handled a bit too slowly, giving the
Oakdale lad time to reach the sack by the narrowest margin.

"Never mind that, fellows," grinned Orv Foxhall from his position at
second. "I'll get him when he comes down this way. He may be pretty
speedy, but----"

"He won't run off the bridge," cried Cooper, on the coaching line.
"Your speed has made you pawn things more than once, and now you've
gone and soaked your daddy's automobubble."

"Bright boy," scoffed Foxhall. "I always enjoy it when you make a
choke, but I'd enjoy it more if you'd make one that would finish you."

Sile Crane came running down from the bench, catching Cooper by the
shoulders and whispering something into his ear. Chipper looked
surprised, and then, as Crane was jogging back, in violation of the
rules, the coacher ran out to first, grabbed Piper and whispered to him.

"Hey?" gasped Sleuth, staring at Chub Tuttle, who was walking to the
plate with his bat held in a manner which seemed to indicate that he
would bunt the ball. "What's the----"

"Shut up!" hissed Chipper. "Mind! Get a lead now! Be ready!" Then
he skipped back over the chalk-mark before the umpire could order him
back.

The Wyndham infielders crept forward, crouching and ready. Newbert,
contemptuou