"What! And be labeled a quitter?" howled Tom. "I didn't expect it of you, Charlie—not this time."
The emphasis laid on the last words brought a flush to Blake's face.
"If there weren't so much at stake maybe I shouldn't be talking of such a thing," he retorted. "But when a chap has it dinned into his ears every day that he isn't doing the right thing by the school, why——"
"Oh, you make me tired!" scoffed Tom. "Who wants you to get off the team? No one but a lot of soreheads."
Blake gloomily picked his favorite bat from the rack.
"I don't know, Tom," he sighed. "Some of the boys who used to be pretty good shouters for our crowd have flopped over to the other side."
"A lot of weaklings!" jeered Tom.
"Just go about your work as though nothing had happened," advised Steele. "Now's the time to show what you're made of. I know a good player when I see one. Don't let this noisy Brown crowd get your nerve—that's all."
Charlie Blake cast a grateful look at the coach.
"I'm glad to hear you speak that way," he said. "But—but—somehow——"