In the island crowd was Grace Garrett. Without attracting the attention of his companions, Earl Gardner dropped back and walked at Grace’s side. “Oh, I’m so glad you won the game to-day, Earl!” she exclaimed, placing her hand on his arm. “I didn’t win it,” he laughed. “Dick and Bart Hodge deserve all the credit.” “Not all the credit,” she denied. “But who is this Bart Hodge? Is he really a tramp?” “Hardly that!” smiled Gardner. “He’s a chum and comrade of Dick Merriwell’s brother, Frank.” “Well, how does he happen to be here now?” “Frank Merriwell sent him. He couldn’t come himself, and so he sent Hodge. It was a mighty lucky thing for us that Hodge turned up just when he did. No other man could have gone behind the bat and handled Dick’s pitching to-day.” “What was the matter with Brad Buckhart? He actually seemed crazy.” Earl shook his head. “That was something mighty queer,” he said. “Buckhart was ill—he’s ill now, and he has two bad-looking eyes. That ball struck him between the eyes, and they are nearly closed up.” “It was dreadful!” said Grace. “It frightened all the girls. I thought he was killed.” “It takes something harder than a baseball to kill that Texan,” declared Gardner. “Dick tried to induce him to go to a doctor, but he remained through the game and kept a wet handkerchief over his bruise.” With a handkerchief tied round his head, Buckhart was plodding along at the rear of the ball players. The Western lad was doing some thinking now. Gradually his head seemed getting clearer, and he was trying to devise some explanation for his own remarkable actions on the ball field. He remembered very well the singular feeling of lassitude and weakness that came upon him a short time after eating dinner at the Corndike Hotel that day. Over and over to himself Buckhart put this question: “What did I eat that knocked me out?” As the ball players were passing the Corndike, Uriah Blackington hurried out of the hotel, and called to Ray Garrett. “Come here a moment, Garrett,” he urged. “Bring Merriwell with you.” Ray and Dick joined the Rockford manager. “I’ve just received a telephone message from Hammerswell and Whitcomb,” said Blackington. “They urged me to call a meeting right away for the purpose of making certain changes in the schedule.” “Why should there be any changes made?” asked Garrett. “Isn’t the schedule satisfactory to Rockford?” “Not exactly,” answered Blackington. “We wish to make one or two changes ourselves.” “Ten to one,” cut in Dick, “this is some sort of a trick on the part of Hammerswell. Don’t help him out in his schemes, Mr. Blackington.” In a frank manner the Rockford man placed a hand on Dick’s shoulder.