Having unemotionally watched the new pitcher approach, Manager Hutchinson spoke to Stark. “See if you can’t start something right away,” he directed. “Mebbe we’ll get ’em going if we score the first time up.” Larry nodded, and whispered hastily to the leading batter, Labelle, a slim, shifty French Canadian, a heady single hitter, and an unusually fast man on the sacks. Labelle grinned, and found his bat. Possibly the Bancroft manager was more disgusted than disappointed, as the sarcastic comments which he flung at his offending players seemed to indicate; but as yet he had not been aroused to apprehension concerning the ultimate outcome of the game, and he felt that, were the Kinks’ left-hander really formidable, it had well happened that his men had been forwarned thus early in the contest. Having relieved his feelings by a flaying fling at Mace, as the final victim of Locke’s skill secured his fielding mitt from the bench, Riley cast aside the remnants of his cigar, lighted a fresh weed, and prepared to watch Jock Hoover make monkeys of the locals. Janet Harting was overjoyed. “Oh, wasn’t that splendid!” she cried, impulsively squeezing her companion’s arm with one gloved hand. “It was _such_ a surprise! I never expected it.” “No more did any one, I fancy,” said King, laughing. “It’s the unexpected that so frequently happens which makes baseball the fascinating game it is. Apparently that fellow can pitch some, after all. I wonder where he came from.” “Mr. Cope won’t tell, and nobody around here seems to know.” “Somehow I have a feeling that I’ve seen him before, but I can’t place him.” “Perhaps he’s some great college pitcher,” said the girl. “I don’t know about that, but if he is I reckon he’s here under a fake name; for you know it makes college twirlers professionals to play for money. A man is barred if he’s ever caught at it. Just the same, some of them, needing the dough, take the risk. Up here in this league a man would stand a fair chance of getting by without being exposed.” “It’s――it’s supposed to be dishonest, isn’t it?” “Yes; but necessity has driven more than one good man to shut his eyes to that phase of the matter. If this Locke was known at all as a professional, some of the players of this league should recognize him.” “I don’t like to think that he’s a college man who would do such a thing,” said Janet earnestly. “Oh-ho!” cried Bent. “So you’re taking considerable interest in the chap you thought couldn’t pitch at all.” “Well,” she faltered, “he――he looks clean and honest. One can see he isn’t like the others――the most of them, anyway. Kingsbridge is going to bat now. I hope they can do something.” Hoover had shaken the kinks out of his arm by two or three throws to first, and, glancing round to make sure his backers were in position and ready, he stepped on to the slab and glowered at Labelle. Squatting, Bangs signaled, and the fire-eating twirler swung into his first delivery.