In spite of vociferous yells for Locke on the part of the bleacherites, Carson sent Grist into the box. He lasted until the end of the seventh. Then, owing in part, perhaps, to the carping criticism from a group of leather-lunged fans, to whom nobody but Lefty Locke looked good, he made a sudden and pyrotechnic ascension which let in several more tallies. Lefty was hurried into the gap with the score eight to three against the home team, and, though the portsider kept the Hornets from further scoring, the Blue Stockings were able to get only two more runners across the rubber. Therefore the game was lost by a tally of eight to five. The tramp and thunder of departing thousands had been going on for several minutes, yet Miss Collier still sat in a box, her eyes fixed on the throng of white-clad players just disappearing through the fence on the farther side of the field. All afternoon the young southpaw had not so much as glanced in her direction, yet to-night he was leaving the city, to be gone for several weeks. It seemed as if he might at least have said good-by. “I wouldn’t take it so hard if I were you,” smiled Mr. Collier, turning away from the friend with whom he had been chatting. “We can afford to lose this game, you know. The boys will make it up when they meet the Specters.” The girl arose leisurely and turned her back on the field. “I wasn’t thinking of that,” she said quietly. She paused for a second, her slim, gloved hands straightening her hat. “Doesn’t it seem a little odd to you, Dad, that Mr. Locke pitches so few games?” “Few!” repeated the magnate in amazement. “Why, he’s been in the box twice this week, and twice last!” Miss Collier shrugged her shoulders gracefully. “Precisely,” she returned calmly. “He’s been in the box for anywhere from two to four innings. Three times out of those four he won games some other pitcher tried to lose. He pitched a full game the day before I got home. Since then he’s been doing the most thankless sort of relief work. You see my point?” Mr. Collier’s jaw dropped. “Well, I’ll be hanged!” he exclaimed. “You certainly put one over on me that time, Virginia――or was it Locke who put you wise?” “Certainly _not_,” the girl retorted emphatically. “He isn’t that sort at all.” “Hum! No, of course not. I’m very glad you mentioned this, my dear. Such a thing is neither fair to the boy nor good judgment. I’ll see Carson before he leaves to-night, and tell him a little something.” CHAPTER XI ON THE RAW EDGE