“Hasn’t Janet told you that everything has been explained, Mr. Hazelton?” cut in Virginia Collier. “Of course, I didn’t know about her, and just then I was somewhat peeved with Franklin. Oh, I think you’ve met Mr. Parlmee, haven’t you?” “Sure, we’ve met,” said Parlmee, putting forth a hand, which finally led Lefty reluctantly to release the gloved fingers of Janet. “How are you, Locke, old chap? If I was a bit rude when we were introduced, perhaps you’ll pardon me now, understanding the reason.” “Everybody seems eager to beg everybody’s pardon,” laughed Virginia Collier. “I wonder where father is? I know he was on hand to see you and Jack Kennedy when――” “He was in the clubhouse,” said Lefty. “I’ve seen him.” “Do you think you can win the game to-day?” asked Janet, apparently with a touch of anxiety. “What do _you_ think?” he questioned. “I’m sure you can.” “Then I’ll win it, Janet, if there’s any pitching left in my old south wing.” “You’ll have to pitch,” said Parlmee. “They’ve been saving Donovan up for this game. They want it as bad as we do.” “Perhaps so,” said Locke; “but we’ve got to have it.” Somehow, there was no touch of boasting in his manner, nor did there seem to be anything of the sort in his words. He was confident of himself, and his confidence had been redoubled by Janet’s assurance that she knew he would win. “When the game is over,” said Miss Collier, “you’ll find us waiting outside the clubhouse with the automobile. You’ll join us, won’t you?” Only for a fraction of a minute did Lefty hesitate. “The others――the boys,” he faltered. “If we win, they will――” “They’ll forgive you for deserting them this time, I’m sure,” she said quickly. “It only happens once in a lifetime, you know――and Janet will be there.” “So will I,” he promised instantly. CHAPTER XLVI THE GAME OF HIS LIFE Never in his life had Lefty Locke pitched such a game of baseball. Never had that great crowd seen such splendid work upon the mound. Again master of himself in every respect, thrilled with life and vigor from toes to finger tips, the amazing southpaw of the Blue Stockings fought every inch of the way as if life and honor depended upon it. He knew _she_ was watching him. He could feel her eyes upon him; yet they did not distract him from the task to which he had set his hand, his brain, his very soul. Instead, they were his inspiration, making him as unfathomable to those desperately waiting Specter batters as would have been Mathewson at his best.