“You’re thinking that I――that I let you take the blame for last night because I want to play to-morrow,” flared Hall. “I do, but, if that was all I wouldn’t have let you. I’m standing for it because I know plaguey well that if I don’t play we’ll get beaten. Oh, I dare say that sounds cocky, but it’s so. I can hit Cross’s curves and not another one of you fellows can come anywhere near ’em.” “I know, and I’m not kicking, am I? I said it was me because I knew we’d get ‘Finis’ written all over us if you were out of the game. So what’s the use of chewing the rag about it now?” “Because I won’t have you think I’m a――a sneak and a coward! And you do think so――inside.” “I don’t!” Hal had come close and now he stood staring down at Joe menacingly. “You don’t?” he demanded suspiciously. “No, I don’t.” “All right. _See_ that you don’t. If I thought you were lying I’d――I’d knock your head off! Mind you, I appreciate what you’ve done for me――” “_You!_” shouted Joe, jumping up. “For _you_? Don’t you dare say I did it for you! I did it because I wanted to.” He waved a finger under the other’s nose. “Just one more crack like that and I’ll punch your ugly face in!” “I didn’t mean me personally,” growled Hal. “Anyhow, we understand each other, I guess.” CHAPTER II A SACRIFICE FOR KENTON Holman’s School had won the first contest with Munson, and she wanted very much to win the second and do away with the necessity of playing a third on neutral territory. This warm, blue-and-gold June afternoon found them well matched and eager, how well matched is shown by the fact that until the sixth inning neither side scored. Then Prentiss got Holman’s first hit, a rather scratchy affair at that, and although Cummins was thrown out at first Prentiss reached second. Cross, Munson’s really remarkable twirler, let down long enough to pass Wilder and, with one down, Holman’s cheered hopefully. “Babe” Linder flied out to shortstop, however, and it remained for Cochran, Holman’s left-hand pitcher, to do the trick, or, rather, to bring it about. Cochran was no batsman, and he knew it, just as every one else did, but he had a wonderful faculty for getting in the way of the ball. I’m not prepared to say that it was intentional, but Cochran’s average was just about one base per game owing to being struck by a pitched ball. This time he got it on the thigh, started right off for first and, it may be, decided the matter for an umpire who was inclined for an instant to be doubtful. That filled the bases and there was a good deal of noise from coaches and spectators, and Cross, disgruntled, sought revenge by trying to catch Stearns off second, or by pretending to. At all events the ball went over the shortstop’s head, Prentiss scored and Stearns raced for third but was caught when the center fielder pegged a swift one to the third sack.