It's
your work alone that has prevented us from scoring in either of these
innings. You've always had speed and curves, but now you seem able to
get the pill over. Keep it up, old fellow, and you'll make a pitcher
yet, We may need you before the season ends."

CHAPTER XVI.

DREAD.

"There's Phil," cried Grant, spying him. "I'll take the field. Let
him pitch."

Eliot turned, saw Springer, and looked relieved.

"Wondered where you were," he said pleasantly. "I see you're ready for
business. This is a five-inning game, and Grant has pitched two
innings already; you can hand 'em up the last three."

"But I haven't warmed up any," said Phil. "I couldn't get around any
sooner."

"There's no hurry," returned Roger. "You can have plenty of time to
limber your wing; the scrub won't object to that."

"But I don't want to butt in and take Grant's place."

"Shucks!" cried Rod genially. "Who's butting in, anyhow? What are you
talking about, partner? I want to get some field practice anyhow, and
perhaps I will if you're kind enough to let the scrub hit you once in a
while. They're putting up a right smart sort of a game, but Hooker's
mainly responsible, as he hasn't been letting us rap him to any great
extent. No scores yet on either side."

"Come on, Phil," called Eliot decisively, as he slipped his left hand
into the big catching mitt, "get out there and wiggle your flinger.
Tuttle, maybe they'll let you play with the scrub, so Grant can occupy
the right-hand pasture."

This arrangement was quickly made, the captain of the scrub team having
filled his outfield positions with youngsters who were even weaker than
Tuttle. Springer accepted the ball tossed to him, and walked out to
the pitcher's box, where he began warming up by throwing to Eliot,
while the scrub batters waited around their bench. He was not in the
most agreeable frame of mind, but he had no fear of the scrub players.
In a few moments he announced that he was ready, and began work with
the determination of striking out the first fellow who faced him.
Ordinarily, this would not have been such a difficult thing to do, but,
through some unusual freak of chance, the batter, swinging blindly,
succeeded in hitting out a most annoying little Texas leaguer that
sailed just beyond the eagerly reaching fingers of Jack Nelson.

"Come, Spring, old wiz," cried the thoughtless Cooper, "you've got to
do better than that. If you don't, we'll have