As luck would have it, stepping out of the elevator, they came face to face with Bert Elgin himself, talking earnestly with big Bill Hagin, a regular outfielder. For an instant the former stared blankly at Stillman. Then, with a great affectation of heartiness, he thrust out a hand. “Well, I’ll be hanged if it isn’t Jack Stillman!” he exclaimed. “Glad to see you, old hoss!” The reporter made no attempt to withdraw his hands from his pockets. He seemed, in fact, to thrust them deeper, and as his eyes met Elgin’s there was a look of withering, contemptuous scorn in them, which cut the ball player like a knife. “How are you, Elgin?” he said curtly, and passed on toward the dining room with Lefty. For a second Elgin stood staring after them, his face flushed and his eyes gleaming angrily. “Your friend don’t seem choked with joy at seeing you,” Hagin commented maliciously. Elgin came to himself with a slight start, and shrugged his shoulders indifferently. “No special friend of mine,” he said shortly. “Used to see him now and then three years ago.” Nevertheless, when he dropped into his place at the table a short time later, his face was still flushed and angry. “Stillman was friendly enough at Princeton,” he thought furiously. “That dog has turned him against me with his lying stories, that’s what’s happened.” He ground his teeth viciously. “If I don’t put it all over him, good and proper, I’m a liar!” CHAPTER IX SOMETHING SUB-ROSA “Five-inning practice game at eight-thirty sharp,” announced Manager Brennan, at the close of the day’s work. Instantly every tongue stopped wagging, and each man turned an eager, inquiring face in his direction. After nearly two weeks of monotonous training, the prospect of a real game, even if it was only among themselves, was very welcome. The new recruits, especially, quivered with anticipation. It was a foregone conclusion that the game would be played between the regulars and the “Yannigans,” as the cubs are sometimes termed; and the chance of pitting themselves against their more experienced rivals thrilled each one of the youngsters through and through. The older men were more indifferent. They had played many such games in past training seasons, and knew that these were organized by the manager mainly for the purpose of watching the cubs in action and studying their possibilities. Still, there would be a chance to try their hitting skill against the bush pitchers, and any ball player will willingly go without a meal in order to bat.