“S’pose he feels rotten,” said Rufe, “and so he sneaked.” “There was something doing ’tween him and the old man,” said Kid Lewis. “Carson called him for a private confab, and I heard sounds of fireworks.” “It’s a shame,” said Laughing Larry, looking strangely doleful, “a beastly shame he had that spasm in the ninth.” “Spasm?” growled Herman Brock. “Looked to me more like a trance. What ailed him, anyhow?” “What’s been ailing him for some days?” questioned Jack Daly. “He don’t eat, and I happen to know he ain’t sleeping well.” Dalton knew this also, although he had said nothing about it. Suddenly, to the surprise of the others, Grist, who had taken no part in the conversation, spoke up. “The boy must be off his feed,” said Pete. “Any youngster is apt to have a slump. Give him time and he’ll come round.” Now this was particularly generous of Grist, who at other times, with Lefty going at his best, had shown a disposition to belittle the southpaw’s fine work. Promptly Dalton’s heart warmed toward the old veteran. “You’re right, Pete,” he said, “and mebbe you’re the very one to put him back on his pins.” “Me?” grunted Grist. “Yes, you.” “How y’ mean?” “By talking to him. By encouraging him.” “Huh!” grunted the old twirler. “He wouldn’t listen to me.” “I believe he would, Pete. Lefty’s a ripping fine fellow when he’s right――the finest ever. He’s generous and whole-souled, without a touch of jealousy in his make-up. All of a sudden he’s gone wrong, and nobody can account for it. His particular friends can’t talk to him. They’ve tried.” “Then I dunno why I should waste my breath,” said Grist slowly. “Likely he’d jump on me and sink his spikes to the sole leather.” “I don’t believe it,” protested Larry earnestly. “He acts like he’d somehow got a fool notion that everybody’s sore on him. Now, if he saw that you didn’t feel that way――” “All right,” snapped Grist shortly. “Leave it to me; I’ll talk to him like a father to a wayward son.” “But be careful,” cautioned Dalton. “Handle him right.” “Leave it to me, I tell yer,” advised Grist once more. That night Lefty ate alone at the hotel, shunning his teammates. He picked at his food like a man insulting his appetite, if he had one. When he left the dining room and walked out through the lobby without looking to the right or left, Grist followed him. Ten minutes later Grant, Hyland, and Dalton, chatting in a front window, were startled to see old Peter appear before them, his face the picture of anger and disgust.