"If I'm batted out to-day it's my finish," thought the unhappy Oakdale pitcher.
"Cheer up," said a Clearporter, trotting past him. "We won't do a thing to you. If you're sick and need some medicine, we'll hand you some of the same kind we gave Newbert and Crowell."
"Aw, go on!" growled Phil. "You're nothing but a lot of wind-bags."
While the locals were practicing Eliot called Grant and Springer aside, giving each a ball.
"Warm up, both of you," he directed. "I'll catch you."
So these rivals, who had only a short time before been friends, stood off at the proper distance and pitched alternately to Eliot. Grant was steady and serene, with good control and in command of some curves, of which the drop taught him by Springer led Roger to nod his head approvingly; seeing which, Phil, who had not been right to start with, grew very wild indeed.
Practice over, the Clearport captain trotted up to Roger, saying:
"We're all ready. We'll take the field. Let's get to playing before it begins raining."
Phil sat down on the bench, throwing his sweater over his arm for protection. The umpire called, "Play," and Nelson, cheered by the little crowd from Oakdale, stepped out with his bat.
The Oakdale captain found a place at Springer's side. "Phil," he said in a low tone, "I want you to be ready to go in any time. I've decided to start the game with Grant, but we may need you any moment."