Williams's eyes were opened. He felt beneath the bitter calmness of the manager's voice the fact that Clancy knew—at least part of the truth. His jaw dropped and his face went white. Clancy, with a short laugh, started to run away.
"Then I don't work to-day?" Alarm, pleading and a note of despair in his tones as if he realized what the manager's decision meant to him.
"No, not to-day," replied Clancy, watching him sharply.
He turned away with exaggerated carelessness, and the rat-faced, cold-eyed man in the stands, who had been watching them closely, gritted out an oath and turned to Barney Baldwin, who was sitting beside him:
"He isn't going to let Williams pitch," He said. "We're done for, Baldwin."
The politician turned purple with rage.
"Well, by ——, Edwards," he snarled, "we'll see about this. I'll put this over or know why."
The first game of the afternoon was a romp for the Bears. They scored early, and by clean hitting and dashing play on the bases, piled up tallies until the opponents were hopelessly defeated before the fifth inning. The game was a stern chase from that to the finish, and the Bears, scoring steadily, won, 9 to 2.
Instead of being elated by the victory Clancy seemed worried. On the bench he was fretful and uneasy.
"Don't you fellows take any wide chances in the next game," he decreed while the pitchers were warming up for the final battle against the Jackrabbits. "We want this game. I'm sending Wilcox in to win it. Who's that young bird the Rabbits are warming up? Hoskins, eh? Busher? Well, watch him. These young fellows with nothing but a strong arm are dangerous as the deuce at this time of the year."