“Yes, I guess I pulled a boner there, Clif. But you know how Steve is about missing practice. He’d have been around to see me this evening, probably, and I’d have been just as bad off. You see,” concluded Tom ingenuously, “I thought maybe he wouldn’t notice anything.” That naïve statement brought the first laugh of the evening. The idea of any one short of a blind man failing to notice Tom’s plastered and discolored face was certainly amusing! Mr. Cooper, rather to Tom’s relief, seemed less inclined to blame the latter for that set-to with Coles than did the others. Of course neither Clif nor Loring bore down heavily on that phase of the disaster, but Tom knew very well that they considered him culpable. Mr. Cooper seemed to be more interested in the fact that Tom had fought in defense of Mr. Connover than in the fact that he had transgressed school regulations. He even suggested tentatively that possibly Mr. Connover, could the whole story be laid before him, might be moved to leniency. But Tom rejected the idea. “That would be just like swiping,” he said. “Wink wanted to go and tell Steve that stuff, but I said he shouldn’t. Besides, I’m not so certain I fought Wink because he dragged Steve in. Maybe it was just because he got me good and mad.” Mr. Cooper refused that theory with a shake of his head, but Clif, not yet won to sympathy, muttered: “You’re always going off half-cocked, you crazy coot!” Presently the talk turned to the morrow’s game once more, and Tom discovered that, even though he must witness it from the stand instead of the diamond, he could find interest in speculation and discussion. Loring, Mr. Cooper and Wattles were to make the trip to Cotterville, which was some twenty-six miles distant, in a hired automobile, and now it was arranged that Tom should make a fourth in the party. Clif would, of course, go with the players in one of the motor buses. Whether he would start the game in the outfield was another subject for speculation. Clif thought it would depend on whether Wolcott used a left-hand or right-hand pitcher. “He had Greene playing center most of the time to-day,” he said, “and that looks as if Al was the favorite. Say, Tom, you and Coles certainly put Steve on his ear to-day. He was sure grouchy!” “I don’t see that you can blame him,” observed Loring. “Saturday he had a nice infield that worked together like the insides of a clock. Now he’s got to put Coles in at second base, and he hasn’t played there regularly for weeks! Why shouldn’t he get peeved? It’s enough to make any coach mad!” “I guess that’s right,” sighed Clif. “I guess he has a hunch that we’re going to get smeared to-morrow.” “Heck, why should we?” demanded Tom. “Didn’t we beat them Saturday? Why can’t we do it again?” “For several reasons,” answered Clif tartly. “One of ’em is that you’ve spilled the beans, you poor fish!” “Aw, shut up,” growled Tom unhappily.