“Bless us, yes! But almost any sort would do. Just so long as they could hit the ball at least once in three times up! I don’t hesitate to tell you, Deane, that unless this bunch finds its batting eye next Saturday we’re going to look pretty small.” “And they’re doing so well otherwise,” said Loring. “It does seem too bad that they aren’t hitting better.” “Well, you never can tell what a team will do when it has to do it, and I’m hoping that some of those chaps will come across day after to-morrow. I’ve seen it happen often enough.” He told of a case in point, but Loring didn’t pay very close attention, for he was thinking of the coach’s opening remark. When the brief instance had been brought to a convincing close Loring said: “You asked if I knew where you could get two hitters, sir. I don’t, but I do know――at least――” Then he paused, in doubt. “Well, don’t leave me in suspense,” prompted the coach, smiling. “What did you start to say?” “I’m wondering whether I ought to say it,” answered the boy, frowning perplexedly. “You see, he’s a particular friend of mine, sir, and it may be that I’m――that he isn’t as good as I think he is. I wouldn’t want you to suppose that I was just trying to put something over on you.” “Don’t trouble. I’ll look after myself, Deane. Who have you in mind? Can he hit? Why haven’t I seen him?” “Oh, you’ve seen him all right,” said Loring. “That’s what makes me think he can’t be as good as he seems to me. It’s Clif Bingham I’m talking about, sir.” “Bingham?” echoed Steve. “Why, yes, I’ve seen Bingham often enough. He never struck me as being an exceptional hitter. He’s still on the scrub, isn’t he?” “Yes, sir. I don’t know whether you’d call him an exceptional hitter or not, Mr. Connover, but he’s really done pretty well lately, and he’s a left-hand batter.” “Hm. An outfielder, eh?” “Centerfielder, sir.” “You say he’s been hitting? Any idea what average he’s made with the scrub?” “No, sir, not much. About two seventy-five, I’d say. Maybe better lately. It wouldn’t do any harm to――to have a look at him, would it? I guess――” Loring laughed――“I guess I could say more for him if he wasn’t a particular chum of mine!” Mr. Connover smiled, but absently. “Bingham,” he muttered. “I remember him. Played good football last fall, didn’t he? An outfielder, eh? Held his position regularly, Deane?” “Well, for several weeks, sir. He beat out a fellow named Burke.” “I see.” Mr. Connover’s gaze strayed to the second diamond. “Look here, Deane, I can’t leave this job. I wish you’d go over there and see what Bingham does and let me know later. Tell me how he batted and fielded; give me the full dope on him. Do you mind doing a bit of scouting?” “No, sir, I’ll be glad to. I meant to go over, anyway.” “Good! Don’t be too optimistic, though. I doubt if Bingham can be used this year. But bring me a report on him just the same. Thanks. By the way, Deane, this is rather like assistant manager stuff, eh?”