For years he had been so absolutely convinced that it was he who had――unconsciously, perhaps, but still none the less certainly――stolen those things from Bob Ferris’ rooms, that Pell’s story struck him as almost incredible. There could be no mistake, however. The details fitted too perfectly to admit of a coincidence. Lefty had been right, it was Elgin who was the thief, not he. And Elgin it was who had done a thing which would have been impossible in Wilmerding, waking or sleeping; he had deliberately stolen, and as deliberately planned to throw the blame upon an innocent man. Sudden, furious anger flamed up within the Princeton man. He felt as if he must search out that contemptible coward and give him a little of what was coming to him. He half rose from the bench, his face livid; and then he realized that all around him a wild uproar had arisen. Men yelled and cheered themselves purple; they stamped and shouted and waved their hats. Pell’s hand caught Wilmerding by the arm and dragged him down, but not before the angry man had caught a glimpse of the line of athletes in their immaculate uniforms, leaving the shadow of the distant bleachers and trotting briskly into the brilliant April sunshine on the field. CHAPTER XL THE SURPRISE Amid the roaring of the crowd, the Hornets made their way across the diamond. Brennan was in the lead, with Cy Russell beside him; and, at moments when the scurrying phalanx of photographers permitted, the manager talked to his star pitcher in low tones. “You’d better keep your arm limbered, Cy,” he said. “I shall send you in if they get to Elgin. The gink Kennedy’s going to open with ought to be soft for us.” “Who is he?” Russell asked curiously. The manager paused until a camera had been snapped and the reporter had retreated to a little distance. “Some busher,” he explained. “Ken seems to think he’s a find, but I’ve seen them kind before. Grist’ll take his place when we bat him out, and we want to get away to a flying start.” As they neared the bench, the fans gave a yell for Russell, and several newspaper men came up to inquire perfunctorily whether it was not true that he was to go on the slab first for the Hornets. “You boys’ll find that out in time,” Brennan returned evasively. “Don’t you know that I ain’t the kind to give out that information before the announcer? Chase yourselves.” He turned to Bert Elgin, who was standing not far away, looking as cool and nonchalant as if he had never played on anything but a Big League team, and proceeded to give him a few last bits of advice. While this was going on, another cheer went up from the stands as the Blue Stockings’ contingent appeared and rapidly crossed the field. Brennan’s back was towards them, and he was consequently surprised to see Elgin give a sudden start and stare fixedly at the approaching squad.