verweening ambition to become a pitcher, although little qualified for
such a position, either by temperament or acquired skill. True, he
could throw the curves, and had some speed, but at his best he could
not find the plate more than once out of six times, and, when disturbed
or rattled, he was even worse. Like many another fellow, he
erroneously believed that the ability to throw a curved ball was a
pitcher's chief accomplishment.

"It was lucky Springer developed so well as a twirler last year,"
observed Eliot.

"Lucky!" sneered Hooker. "Why, I don't recollect that he did anything
worth bragging about. He lost both those games against Wyndham."

"We had to depend on him alone," said Roger; "and he was doing too much
pitching. It's a wonder he didn't ruin his arm."

"You've got to have some one beside Springer this year, that's sure,"
said Hooker. "He can't pitch much more than half the games scheduled."

"Phil's tryin' to coach Rod Grant to pitch," put in Sile Crane. "I see
them at it last night, out behind Springer's barn."

Roy Hooker laughed disdainfully. "Oh, that's amusing!" he cried.
"That Texan has never had any experience, but, just because he and Phil
have become chummy, Springer's going to make a pitcher out of him.
He'll never succeed in a thousand years."

"Here they come now," said Ben Stone, as two boys turned in at the gate
of the yard; "and Phil has got the catching mitt with him. I'll bet
they've been practicing this noon."

"Jinks! but they're getting thick, them two," chuckled Chub Tuttle.

"As thick as merlasses in Jinuary," drawled Sile Crane whimsically.

"Being thick as molasses, they're naturally sweet on each other,"
chirped Cooper.

"Hi! Hi!" cried Tuttle. "There you go! Have a peanut for that."

"No, nut for me; I shell nut take it," declined Chipper.

"It's a real case of Damon and Pythias," remarked Stone, watching the
two lads coming up the walk.

"Or David and Jonathan," said Eliot.

Phil Springer, the taller of the pair, with light hair, blue eyes, and
long arms, looked at a distance the better qualified to toe the slab in
a baseball game; but Rodney Grant was a natural athlete, whose early
life on his father's Texas ranch had given him abounding health,
strength, vitality, and developed in him qualities of resourcefulness
and determination. Grant had come to Oakdale late the previous autumn,
and was living with his aunt, an odd, seclusive spinster, by th