They confessed that they had not. Locke was the only man who did not answer. Sitting some seats ahead of the others and on the opposite side of the car, he was gazing glumly out at the whirling landscape, his face as dark as the purple shadows hovering at the base of a distant line of hills. “Hey, Tom,” called Larry Stark, “did you get what Hink was telling us?” Locke started, shook himself a bit, and turned. “I was thinking just then,” he said. “What was it?” They told him, and he acknowledged that he knew of no pitcher by the name of Craddock. “They say he’s a hot article,” said Hinkey. “Feller that tole me ’bout him seemed to think we was goin’ to git up ag’inst the real thing t’-morrer.” “What you tryin’ to do,” growled Sockamore, “frighten Lefty? Look at him. He’s fergot about Craddock a’ready.” Locke was again gazing out of the window in a preoccupied, moody manner. “Whut’s the matter with him?” wondered Hunchy Oulds. “He’s been like that ’most all day. He must be in love――or sick.” “Same t’ing,” grinned Labelle. “Hope he don’t go gittin’ off his feed now,” muttered Hinkey. “He’s due t’ git his bumps some time, but I’d like ter see him pull through t’-morrer, ’specially if they do spring a new pitcher on us.” “Maybe,” said Reddy Crandall, “Hutch won’t work him to-morrow. I was told by a Fryeburger that there was a meetin’ comin’ on for Thursday to settle whuther Lefty belongs to us or not, and maybe the games he’s pitched won’t be counted.” “They can’t throw them out!” snapped Stark savagely. “They’ve got to count them. And if we lose Locke we’re going to be in bad.” “You mean Hazelton, don’t ye?” grinned Hinkey. “They say it’s settled that that’s his right name. As a rule, I don’t think much of college guys, but I own up that Lefty is some pitcher, and we’ll miss him.” Despite his words, his tone was not suggestive of worriment. Hinkey was one of the men brought to the team by Bob Hutchinson. Tom Locke did not eat much that night. He hurried to the dining room at the Central Hotel. Two cups of coffee, hot and strong, made the greater part of his meal. They steadied him. Dashing up to his room, he found the blue serge suit, freshly pressed and carefully laid out on his bed. It took him twenty minutes to make a complete change, even though he was possessed by an almost feverish desire to hurry. And, as a rule, when he hurried he could do it in half that time. Taking a final peep at himself in the mirror, he extinguished the light and went out. When bidding him adieu on Sunday, the girl had invited him to call some time, and he proposed to do so this evening. As he drew near the parsonage, however, he faltered, and his pace slackened. She had shunned him upon the street; would she not refuse to see him now? “She must give me a chance to explain,” he muttered desperately. “Surely she’ll do that. I can’t believe she’ll decline to see me for a few minutes, at least.”