with Clearport.
That's when you'll even things up."

All that day Springer sought to avoid talking baseball with any of the
fellows, for invariably they spoke of Grant's surprisingly successful
performance; and when they did so something like a sickening poison
seemed to bubble within the jealous youth, who told himself that he
could not long continue to join in this praise, but must soon betray
himself by bursting forth into a tirade against the Texan. In a
measure he did relieve his feelings by expressing his opinion of
Herbert Rackliff, who was brazenly seeking to ignore the open disdain
of his schoolmates. He did not come out for practice that night, and
Grant explained to the others that Phil was knocked out by a cold,
whereupon Cooper chucklingly remarked that he thought it was Barville
that had knocked Springer out.

Shortly before dark, Phil, chancing to take a cross cut from Middle
Street to High Street, observed Roy Hooker pelting away with a baseball
at the white shingle on the barn. Drawing near, Phil asked Roy what he
was doing, and the latter, startled and perspiring, looked round.

"Oh, is it you?" said Roy. "I thought perhaps it was Rackliff. I'm
practicing a little by my lonesome."

"That's a hard way to practice," said Springer. "You can't get much
good out of that."

"Oh, I don't know. I'm getting so I can hit that shingle once in a
while, and use a curve, too. I couldn't seem to hit it with a straight
ball when I began."

"You haven't given up the idea of pitching?"

"Not quite. After watching your performance Saturday--seeing you soak
a batter in the ribs, and then hand out free passes enough to force a
run--I came to realize what control means. I'm trying to get it."

Phil felt his face burn. "Control is necessary," he admitted; "but it
isn't everything. When I put the ball over, they pup-pounded it."

"But they wouldn't if it hadn't been for----" Choking, as he realized
what he had so nearly said, Hooker bit his tongue. Then he hastened to
make an observation that snapped Springer's self-restraint. "They
didn't seem to pound Grant much, and he appeared able to put the ball
just about where he wanted to."

"Grant!" snarled Phil furiously. "That's all I've heard since the
game! Grant, Grant, Grant! It makes me tired!"

"Oh, ho!" muttered Roy. "It does, does it? Well, say, didn't you
realize what you were doing while you were coaching that fellow? I
knew what would