“It should be plain to you now, Mr. Riley,” said Philip Hazelton grimly, “that you made a very bad break when you produced a letter, seemingly in my handwriting, dated at Princeton, and signed with the name of Paul Hazelton. Mr. Hutchinson, also, has blundered in―― Oh, by the way where is he? He seems to be missing.” “He’s sneaked,” cried Sammy Bryant. “He got out when nobody was lookin’.” “He’d better sneak,” declared Henry Cope. “I don’t blame him a bit for skedaddlin’ outer here. He’d better git outer Kingsbridge in a hurry, too.” * * * * * The following evening found Philip Hazelton meditating over a daintily perfumed note that had been brought him by a boy. A dozen times he read it; as many times he started up, as if with a purpose, only to falter. At last, however, he literally tore the blue-serge suit off the hangers in the wardrobe, and lost no time in donning it, save that wasted through the fumbling produced by his almost frantic haste. “After all,” he told himself, rejoicing, “she wasn’t to blame. King did it with that photograph. It’s no wonder she thought me untruthful. Will I call at eight this evening; will I _please_ call at eight? Will I! It’s almost half past seven now. I’m afraid I never can wait for eight o’clock.” It was Janet herself who let him in when he rang at the parsonage door. “Mr. Locke――I mean Hazelton,” she said, “I want to offer you a humble apology. It was simply dreadful of me. Can you pardon me?” He did not leave her long in doubt, and the pleasure of that Sunday meeting in the woods paled in comparison with the delight of the ensuing hour. Henry Cope had improved the first opportunity to tell her all that had taken place at the meeting in Bancroft. “Oh,” she cried, when she thought of it, as they sat close together in the parlor, “I have a surprise for you. I told my father all about it, and he says he knows your father; that they were chums at college. Isn’t that a delightful coincidence. And father wants to meet you, and I think――I’m quite sure――he’ll form a better opinion of some baseball players. I’m going to make him let me attend every game here in Kingsbridge. He just can’t keep me away, that’s all.” Little did she realize when she spoke that she was destined to witness Lefty’s struggles and success as a Major League pitcher afar from Kingsbridge and the “bush” where he had created such a sensation. The story of his first season in fast company is told in the next volume of this series, the title of which is, “Lefty o’ the Big League.” In the course of their chat, he mentioned his sister, whom he affectionately called “Tid,” but, as she turned away at that moment, he failed to detect the strange look that flashed into Janet’s eyes. When he finally left, she accompanied him to the door to let him out. The shaded lamp in the hall was low and dim, and they stood there some moments, close together, speaking in subdued tones, save when――