“I am, sah!” he cried quickly. “That’s why I’m taking myself off the nine. You don’t know what they’re saying, Mr. Merriwell. They say you took me on because you regarded me as a friend, and that it was a mighty bad piece of judgment on your part, sah. They say I must get off or ruin the team.” “And you propose to leave me in the lurch just because some fellows have been making that kind of talk! I didn’t think it of you, Mason--I swear I didn’t!” Hock looked distressed. “I’m only doing what I think is the right thing, sah,” he protested. “If you knew what a miserable night I spent last night, Merriwell! I’d a heap rather been shot than to have lost that game. And I know I was the one who lost it! I should have held both of those flies. They were right in my hands.” “Have I ever said anything to you because you failed to hold them?” “No, sah.” “Well, it was because I knew you felt bad enough about it. Had you been some one else on the team, I might have said something. Until that time you remain on the nine. You will report for practise to-morrow. There is no practise to-day.” Mason’s breath was taken away by Frank’s masterful manner. He had come there firmly resolved to take himself off the team, no matter what Merriwell might say. “But you--you don’t want me out there in center field,” he weakly said. “There are others----” “You’ll report for practise to-morrow, Mason,” Frank again said, escorting Hock to the door. “And you’ll play in that field until I put you elsewhere. That matter is settled.” When Mason was gone Frank turned and found Hodge looking black as a thunder-cloud. CHAPTER XXV. MERRIWELL’S POWER. So it happened that Hock Mason appeared on the field for practise the following day. His appearance was generally unexpected. It was thought that, having discovered the universal sentiment, Merriwell could not help dropping the South Carolinian from the team. Hock walked into the field with his head up and his lips pressed together. He knew he was being eyed in a curious, scornful manner, and the fact gave him an air of defiance. “Look at the nerve of him!” muttered Dick Starbright, who could not get over the fact that Hock had dropped that first fly in the Princeton game. Dick had hoped to pitch that game through to a successful finish, but the dropping of that fly had rattled him so that Merriwell was compelled to take his place. Starbright did not pause to consider that before the long fly came the bases were filled. Nor did it occur to him that, under ordinary circumstances, it would have been a most fortunate thing for him had the long fly been driven straight into the hands of the center-fielder instead of going far to one side and out of reach. He only knew that the center-fielder had dropped the ball, lost it in the short grass near his feet, and four scores had come chasing in for Princeton.