“I’d like to see Coach try you there,” observed Loring. “Me?” Tom sounded a trifle startled. “Well, at that I’ll bet I’d get my base oftener than Greene does. I may not be any――any――” “Clouter Hearn,” offered Clif. “Shut up! What I mean is, I――I――well, call it luck if you like――” “What else could it be?” chuckled Clif. Tom aimed a kick at him, missed by inches and subsided. “Well,” declared Loring with conviction, “you chaps are going to see a big improvement in our team’s hitting next Saturday. You may depend on that.” “Is that _so_?” inquired Tom. “You and Steve have got it all settled, eh? I suppose Miller Huggins is going to loan us Babe Ruth for the afternoon!” “Maybe, but I haven’t heard of it. No, what I mean is just this, Tom. There isn’t a fellow on the team who can’t hit if he wants to; I mean there isn’t one who hasn’t the ability to hit. You fellows have got in a slump, that’s your trouble. You started out pretty well and went along all right until about the sixth week of the season. It was the Greenville game that started you on the down grade. Ever since then you’ve been off your game. Including the Greenville game, you’ve lost five and won two, I think.” “Your statistics are absolutely correct,” said Tom, “only I object to the――the inference you suggest.” “What inference?” asked Loring. “That the blamed old team was getting along all right until I joined it!” “Facts speak for themselves,” said Clif. “All right, then. Facts narrate that Wyndham won six games, lost three and tied one before she played Greenville. I’m just telling you this to prove that I wasn’t the hoodoo. I didn’t go to the first until after the Peebles game.” “Since when,” remarked Clif maliciously, “we’ve been licked four times.” “Just how many games have been won and how many lost?” asked Mr. Bingham, lighting a fresh cigar. “It’s pretty bad, Mr. Bingham,” said Loring. “We’ve won eight, lost eight and tied one. If we win all the remaining games we can’t finish with better than eleven victories. I remember that Mr. Connover said that first day in the cage, Clif, that he expected the team to win at least fourteen out of twenty-two.” “That was bluff,” said Tom. “Coaches always make cracks like that at the start of the season.” “Well, then, what about your enemy?” asked Mr. Bingham. “What has Wolcott been doing?” “I don’t know exactly, sir,” Loring replied, “but I think she has won about two-thirds of her schedule so far. Oh, she’s made a much better showing than we have, there’s no doubt of that!” “Mustn’t think about that,” murmured Mr. Cooper. “Always start a scrap with the conviction that you’re better than the other chap.” “That’s right,” agreed Loring; and, “Yeah, psychology,” grunted Tom. CHAPTER XVII LORING GOES SCOUTING