“Fine and be hanged!” defied Locke. “Only shut up! You started this, not I. You asked a question, and I answered, so cut out the hot air and leave me alone. I’m sick of the sound of your voice.” For a second or two the manager stared in dazed fury at the scowling face of the young pitcher, and then――he wilted. Lefty’s remarks had hit the nail on the head only too accurately, and Carson knew it. He and Pete Grist had been on friendly terms for a number of years, and Grist had been favored by the manager at every opportunity, though Carson flattered himself that it had been done too skillfully to be obvious. The shock of discovering the contrary, and also the realization that Locke was apparently in a state of mind which necessitated handling with gloves, caused the official to back water. With a snappy retort or two, and a very fierce expression, he turned on his heel and sought the seclusion of his stateroom. The slamming of the door was followed by a hush more eloquent than many words. The altercation had been conducted with no soft pedal on, and almost every word had been audible the entire length of the car. For a few minutes even the poker game was in abeyance, as the men glanced significantly at one another with lifted eyebrows, shaking their heads. “He’s sure enough sore,” whispered Kid Lewis. “Maybe it isn’t the girl, after all.” “Mebbe,” agreed Rufe Hyland, glancing at his cards again. “Lucky Grist’s in the smoker, or there’d be a rough-house for fair.” “What he said was nothing but gospel,” protested Nelson. “Carson’s been favoring Pete every chance he got. Lefty won two games for him within a week, and didn’t get any credit; for Grist, going to the bad, was drawn with us leadin’ by a run.” “Oh, sure! I know that. But Petie’s a peppery gink, and no fellow likes to hear that kind of truth blabbed out in so many words.” Of course, Grist heard all about it before many hours had passed. In the dressing room on the Specter grounds, next afternoon, he made some sneering remarks on the subject in a loud tone, which could not help reaching Locke’s ears. Instantly Lefty retorted savagely. Grist snapped back viciously, and but for the swift interference of the other men, there would have been a fight then and there. Five minutes later Carson appeared and curtly informed the southpaw that he was to start the game. It was in this mental condition that Lefty received instructions to pitch. He made no comment beyond a surly nod, but his teammates glanced dubiously at one another, and shook their heads. One and all were conscious of an unpleasant feeling of suspense and unrest. It was as if they were walking on the thin crust of a volcano which was likely at any moment to burst into violent eruption. CHAPTER XII UNCERTAINTY