The motorman looked quizzically at Sid. "Not unless you walk, or hire an auto," he remarked, and fell again to hammering the stone. The other passengers were fretting, complaining, or accepting the situation philosophically, as befitted their natures. Sid made up his mind quickly. "I can walk to Fordham junction, and take the train," he decided. "From Bendleton, which is the nearest railroad station to Boxer Hall, it's only two miles. Maybe I can run it in time, or perhaps I'll meet some one who will give me a lift. Anyway, that's my best chance. I'll do it," and, with a final glance at the stalled car, hoping he might see the flashing up of the lights on it, which would tell of the power being turned on, Sid turned and made off toward the distant railroad station. As the janitor had informed Sid, Tom and the other ball players, including the substitutes, had made an early start in a large automobile, carrying twenty passengers. It was of the type known as a "rubber-neck," from the fact that they are used in big cities to take visitors to the scenes of interest, there to "rubber," or stretch their necks in gazing aloft. "See anything of Sid, as you came away?" asked Holly Cross, who sat beside Tom and Phil, as the auto swayed along. "No," answered Tom briefly. "I fancy he's left for good. Poor old Sid! Isn't it a shame that he went to pieces as he did? If we only had him now our chances would be brighter." "Would you play him if he came along?" asked Phil. "Of course--provided I could--that he was in good standing so Boxer Hall couldn't protest. But what's the use of talking?" "Is he in good form, captain?" asked Bricktop. "Sid never goes stale," answered Tom. "Besides, with his ability to slice a ball to right or left field in a pinch, hitting right and left handed as he does, it would be just great for us to-day." "Still worrying?" asked Phil. "Of course. So would you, if you were in my place. Don't you know what this game means to us?" "Sure we do, me lad," answered Bricktop, kindly. "But say this over to yourself a few times and you'll feel better. 'Tis a proverb of me old Irish ancestors. 'Soft an' aisy goes far in a day,' that's it. 'Soft and aisy goes far in a day.' Remember that, Tommy, me lad, and take it 'aisy' as the good Irish say. We'll win--never fear--we'll win." There was talk and laughter, serious conversation and much chaffing as the auto rumbled along. They had started early and thought they would have plenty of time, but something went wrong with the steering gear once, and a second time the water in the radiator needed replenishing, so that with the delays it left the players with no more than time to get to Boxer Hall in season for the game, and left hardly any time for practice. "Hadn't you better hit up the pace a little, my friend," suggested Mr. Leighton to the chauffeur.