“I have little to do with arranging any of the games,” he said; “but I feel just as much responsible, Buckhart. Every one knows this is going to be a tough old struggle. If I put some one else in to pitch they will have the impression that I was afraid to go against the Great Northern.” “What do you care! You’re a whole lot independent, and I certain never knew you to mind what any one thought, as long as you believed you were right.” “It’s not that, Brad. I can’t afford to lose the confidence of the team. As long as the fellows behind me believe in me implicitly, they play better baseball. Let them lose confidence in me, in even a small degree, and it will affect their playing.” “Then it’s up to you to let them know your condition. It’s up to you to keep it secret no longer that your side is hurt. Pard, you’re a plenty queer. Why, some pitchers squeal and say they have lame arms, or something, every time there is a tough game in sight. But you never want to let any one know you are in bad shape, no matter what the circumstances may be. Tell you what, partner, if you don’t explain about your side so it will be understood, I sure am going to do it myself.” “You will do nothing of the sort, Buckhart; when I get ready to tell, I’ll tell. If you stop to think a moment you will see the bad effect of putting another man into the box. It will look as if I felt shaky about going against these fellows, and put some one else in to take chances and suffer blame and defeat if we are beaten.” “Oh, rot! Any one who knows you well knows you better than that. And there is Chet Arlington. He is just seething to pitch a game.” Dick smiled. “You can see yourself how it would seem if I should ask Arlington to pitch this game. He wanted to pitch against Hilsboro, and was not given the chance. He felt that he might win that game. If I should put him in now, and Fardale lost the game, which it is quite possible she may, there would be many who would fancy I had not given him a fair show. He might think so himself. You can see that, old man.” “Well, I suppose that’s so,” admitted the Texan. “Never thought of it that way. No, pard, you can’t ask him to pitch; but, all the same, you can’t pitch yourself. What are you going to do?” “It’s a problem I can’t answer now,” said Dick. Arlington was the one who settled the problem. That very day he stopped Merriwell on the parade ground, drew him aside, and said: “See here, Captain Merriwell, I am going to ask you just one more favor. If you don’t grant it, this will be the last time I’ll ever ask anything of you.” “What is it?” demanded Dick. “I want to pitch Saturday.” “Do you?” “Sure thing. May I?” “Do you realize what you are asking?” “You bet I do!” warmly retorted Chet. “You turned me down the last time I asked such a favor, and I thought I’d never ask another.”