Hock looked distressed.
“I’m only doing what I think is the right thing, sah,” he protested. “If you knew what a miserable night I spent last night, Merriwell! I’d a heap rather been shot than to have lost that game. And I know I was the one who lost it! I should have held both of those flies. They were right in my hands.”
“Have I ever said anything to you because you failed to hold them?”
“No, sah.”
“Well, it was because I knew you felt bad enough about it. Had you been some one else on the team, I might have said something. Until that time you remain on the nine. You will report for practise to-morrow. There is no practise to-day.”
Mason’s breath was taken away by Frank’s masterful manner. He had come there firmly resolved to take himself off the team, no matter what Merriwell might say.
“But you—you don’t want me out there in center field,” he weakly said. “There are others——”
“You’ll report for practise to-morrow, Mason,” Frank again said, escorting Hock to the door. “And you’ll play in that field until I put you elsewhere. That matter is settled.”
When Mason was gone Frank turned and found Hodge looking black as a thunder-cloud.