with Roger."

"Anyway," said Herbert, "I should think it would shake one up fearfully
riding over these rough country roads. We have some roads around
Boston."

"Oh, a fellow can pick his way along pretty well after our roads get
settled. Of course, they're no macadamized boulevards. It's lots of
sport, and one can get around almost anywhere he wants to go. As long
as I'm not going to be on the baseball team, I might use it to run over
to Barville or Wyndham or Clearport to see the games."

"So you're going to chase the games up, are you?" laughed Rackliff. "I
thought perhaps you'd be so sore you'd keep away from them."

"What, and lose the chance of seeing Oakdale beaten? Why, I wouldn't
miss that first game with Barville for anything."

"But you don't have to go out of this town to see that game. Give it
to me straight, Roy, is that fellow Sanger really much of a pitcher?
Of course, I know Roberts would blow about him, but what do you think?"

"He was green the first of last season, and with a poor catcher to hold
him he didn't show up very strong; but it's a fact that Wyndham, the
fastest team in these parts, only got three clean hits off him the last
game he pitched."

"Well, he'll have a catcher that can hold him this year," declared the
city lad. "Newt Copley is a bird. He can throw to bases, too; it's
rank suicide for runners to try to steal on him. Then you should see
him work a batter. Gets right under the man's club and talks to him in
a low tone, telling him how rotten he is and all that, until he has the
fellow swinging like a gate at every old thing that comes over. And
the way he can touch a bat with his mitt and deflect it on the third
strike without being detected by the umpire is wonderful. He's great
for kicking up a rumpus in a game; but he enjoys it, for he'd rather
fight than eat."

"He hadn't better try anything like that on Rod Grant."

"Oh, I don't know," murmured Rackliff. "Copley's a scrapper, and he
can handle his dukes. He has science, and it's my opinion he'd eat
your cowboy alive."

Hooker shook his head. "You never saw Grant when his blood was up. I
have, and he's a perfect fury. They say his old man was a great
fighter, and that he's been all shot and cut to pieces. _I_ wouldn't
buck up against the Texan for anything."

With which confession Hooker resumed his tinkering on the motorcycle.
After a while, with the switch on, he bestrode the thing and started