Passing Hooker's home on his way down into the village Thursday
evening, Rackliff saw a light in the carriage house, which led him to
fancy he might find Roy there. In this he was not mistaken; Hooker was
puttering over his motorcycle by the light of a lantern. Hearing a
footstep on the gravel outside, he looked up and perceived the visitor
entering by the open door.

"Hello," said Herbert.

"Hello," grunted Hooker, without any effort at cordiality or welcome.

"Tinkering with that old thing again, I see," coughed Rackliff.

"Thanks to you, I am."

"Thanks to me?"

"Yes; it has been out of order ever since you used it last. Baseball
practice doesn't give me much time to work on it by daylight, and so
I'm trying to get her running now."

"Take my advice and pay somebody to remove the thing. It's the biggest
old lemon I ever saw. All it's worth is its price as junk. Gee! I'm
feeling rotten." He sat down on a box, coughing again.

Indeed Herbert did not look well, and there seemed to be something of
an alarming nature in the sound of his cough. His thin cheeks were
flushed and feverish.

"You don't have to worry yourself about it," returned Roy warmly.
"It's mine, and I presume I can do anything I please with it."

"Awful touchy to-night," muttered Rackliff. He lighted a cigarette,
but the first whiff threw him into a most distressing fit of coughing
and he flung it out through the open door. "Can't seem to get anything
out of a smoke," he complained. "Cigarettes don't taste good, and they
raise the merry dickens with this old cough of mine. I've got a
beastly headache, and I suppose I ought to be in bed, but I've got to
go down to the postoffice. Expect a letter from Newbert to-night."

"So you're corresponding with him, are you?" said Roy, wiping his
greasy hands on some cotton waste.

"Sure. Why not? We were chums, you know."

"And of course you still think him the greatest pitcher that ever
happened?"

"He's just about the greatest in his class; you'll find that out
Saturday. Watch how he shows Cowboy Grant up. Say, Springer rather
showed that fellow up, too, didn't he?"

"How do you mean?"

"You know; the way he made him pull his horns and take water."

"Who says Phil Springer made Rod Grant take water?"

"I do. I was there and saw it. Your Texan hasn't got any nerve. He's
the biggest case of fake to be found in seven States. He's strong, I'm
not denying that; but when he