“Pretty punk to-day,” he chuckled. “Can’t hit, or put the ball over――or anything.” “Perfectly rotten, he is,” chimed in Dirk Nelson, still breathing a bit unevenly from his rapid sprint to the plate. “Carson oughta tie the can on him for the rest of the season.” Lefty chaffed back, and the whole crowd, laughing and joshing like a lot of kids, pushed into the clubhouse. As they stripped off their soggy uniforms, and scrapped good-naturedly for the showers, they whistled and sang light-heartedly, living over the excitement of those last three innings. There were one or two exceptions. Some of the Blue Stockings’ old guard had viewed Locke’s swift rise from the ranks with anything but favor. In their opinion it was up to the busher to scrape along in meek and lowly insignificance for a season or two before he leaped into such scintillating prominence in the galaxy of stars. According to them, to “ripen” and acquire baseball sense he should spend some months sitting on the bench and watching the work of the veterans. Lefty had upset every precedent. At each added laurel won by the southpaw the old-timers shook their heads dubiously, declaring that such a pace could never last, that success would swell the youngster’s head, and making a dozen other pessimistic prophecies, none of which as yet showed signs of coming true. With the bulk of players Lefty was on the best of terms. He found them a clean, decent crowd of young men, much in love with their profession, somewhat addicted to draw poker and craps as a pastime, but temperate as a rule in most things, generous to a fault, and very likable. Three of them could write letters after their names as well as before, if they chose――which they did not. Some of the others were a bit rough on the surface, perhaps, but deep down underneath were made of the right stuff. The long, grilling struggle, which began with the opening of the season, had brought them all very close together; and when a crowd of men are fighting shoulder to shoulder day after day, having the same goal, each giving the best that is in him to attain that end, they size up one another’s good points and failings with a thoroughness possible under few other conditions. The new southpaw stood the test well. In spite of his six generous feet of lithe, well-muscled frame, he was still very much of a boy at heart, with a boy’s adaptability for making friends and a boy’s light-hearted, fun-loving nature.