Tom Fernald, the Rockford manager, returned home in anything but a pleasant frame of mind. He had counted on victory, and defeat had cost him some good money. Having heard of the result at Seaslope, he also figured over the standing of the teams, and his anxiousness increased as he fully realized the critical nature of the situation. He knew enough about baseball to understand that fortune had favored Rockford in many instances, and enabled her to retain first place. At one time he had encouraged Seaslope and rejoiced in her victories over Fairhaven and Maplewood, little dreaming the team was likely to become a dangerous antagonist for first position at the end of the season. He had felt satisfied over the success of Maplewood with a new team, being confident that Rockford would not suffer through this success. Now the complexion of things had changed greatly. The loss of two more games might push Rockford down and make an opportunity for those who had previously criticised him and his management to say, “I told you so.” Fernald dropped off the car at the Corndike and came face to face with Brad Buckhart, of the Fairhavens, as he entered the hotel. “How do you do, Buckhart?” he nodded. “So you had hard luck yourself, did you? It must have been a hot game. Twelve innings, was it?” “Yes, twelve warm ones,” nodded the Texan. “You did well to hold Seaslope down in such a manner. Didn’t think you could do it. Those fellows have a hard team to beat over there. How were the hits?” “They made one more than we did.” “And the errors?” “Neither team made an error to-day.” Fernald whistled. “By Jove! that was a great game. What are you going to do to-morrow?” Brad grinned. “We’re going to do our level best to make you hump yourself, Mr. Fernald,” he replied. “We’ll have my pard in the box to-morrow, and you know what that means.” “Then Merriwell didn’t pitch to-day?” “No.” “I’d like to have a little talk with you, Buckhart,” said the Rockford manager, taking Brad by the arm. “Let’s sit down over here.” The Texan wondered why Fernald should wish to talk with him, but walked over to some chairs in a corner of the office, where they sat down quite by themselves. “You’re a pretty good friend to Merriwell, aren’t you?” asked Fernald. “Sure thing,” nodded Brad. “And you’re the only catcher on the Fairhaven team?” “I opine I am. Some of the others might go under the bat, but they don’t advertise themselves as catchers.” “There’s no other man on the team who can hold Merriwell, is there?” “I don’t like to get swelled up in my statements, Mr. Fernald; but I will say that Dick and I are a whole lot familiar with each other, and work pretty well together.” The Rockford manager smiled.