“For Fardale, you mean,” returned Lee Chester. “Fine for Ted.” “Uh-huh,” Hunt Garding paused with a sigh. “Going around the world with his dad, eh?” “He’s foolish! I’d sooner be captain of the Fardale nine than go around the world a dozen times! When does he leave, Hunt?” “Monday night--right after the Franklin Academy game. Say, Chesty!” “Huh?” Garding dropped his voice with a glance around. No one appeared to be in hearing, and he leaned forward. “Do you think Chip will get it?” “Get what?” “The captainship. Ted’s going away leaves it vacant, you know.” “Holy smoke! That’s right! By golly, we’ve got to root for Chip!” Hunt Garding nodded, but looked doubtful. He and his brother plebe were among Frank Merriwell, junior’s, stanchest supporters at Fardale. In common with many other students, they had remained at Fardale during the spring vacation. It was Saturday morning, the last day of the vacation. Owing to a conflict in the schedules, a postponed game with Franklin Academy was to be played off on the following Monday, a half holiday having been declared by the two schools. Franklin was Fardale’s ancient rival, and as it was the second game of the season, feeling was running high. Unfortunately for the Fardale team, its second baseman and captain, Ted Crockett, was leaving school. He had been called away suddenly to take a long trip with his father, but had managed to postpone his leaving until after the Franklin game. His abrupt departure would leave vacant an important office, that of captain of the nine. It was of this that the two plebes were talking in the gymnasium. They did not observe a figure which stood just around the corner, and which was that of Bob Randall. He had just emerged from the locker room, had caught their words, and was listening for the remainder. “I’m not so sure, Chesty. Chip isn’t certain to get the place, you know.” “I’d like to know why not!” broke out Lee Chester indignantly, glaring at his chum. “Why, he’s the best pitcher Fardale ever had, barring his father and uncle!” “Of course,” said Garding. “Best all-around athlete, too.” “Well, what’s the matter with you, then? All we’ve got to do is to get the fellows on their toes, and----” “There are several things the matter. First, there’s another chap on the team who’s a mighty fine tosser.” “You mean Bob Randall?” “Yes.” The silent figure around the corner drew back, with a little smile playing about his clean-cut mouth. Randall was a handsome, dark-eyed, fiery-tempered Southerner, who could play ball like a fiend, when he wanted to. He was full of pride, and his greatest fault was his temper. Despite this, however, he was a prime favorite. At Lee Chester’s next words his face flushed darkly, and his smile changed to a quick scowl. “Randall? Nonsense, Hunt! He’s a dandy fellow, and is a peach of a pitcher, but he’s not in Chip’s class.”