It was plain, however, that Crandall’s discovery had taken the courage out of him, and it seemed to fade away entirely as Stark, also, fanned. Reddy stood up to the plate with his heart in his shoes and swung apathetically, being sliced down without waste of energy on the part of the pitcher. CHAPTER XLI GONE WRONG Locke muttered a single word of disgust as he rose from the bench and walked toward the pitcher’s slab. On the way he stopped suddenly, staring for an instant toward some teams and automobiles down beyond the far end of the third-base bleachers. Then he walked onward, but some of the flush was gone from his face. Hutchinson, sitting silent on the bench, had done little toward directing his players. Should the game go against Kingsbridge, as he believed it would, he was prepared to answer criticism by saying that Henry Cope’s interference had made it impossible for him to rely on his own judgment and generalship. Long before Crandall named the Bancroft pitcher, Hutch was wise to the man. He had likewise observed that Locke did not seem as efficient as usual, although good support had prevented the Bullies from hammering out runs. “When the break comes,” thought the rascally manager, “it’s dollars to doughnuts they’ll get his goat for fair.” The Kingsbridge pitcher looked ill as he found the slab at the beginning of the fifth; his face was pale and set, and there was something like a glare in his eyes. He seemed to be in haste to hand Pat McGovern a pass, pitching one ball after another without pausing to steady down, though both Oulds and Stark begged him to take more time; and not one of the four he threw for Pat even grazed a corner. Following this, he bored Bernsteine in the ribs, and two men were on the sacks, with no one down. Remembering the first game Locke had pitched on that field, the Kingsbridge crowd declined to be frightened. “He’ll steady down in a moment,” they said. “Just watch him.” But in a moment McGovern and Bernsteine each moved up a sack on a weirdly wild pitch to Lisotte. Hutchinson turned quickly to Ringling. “Shake the kinks out of your arm, Ring,” he directed. “Hurry up about it.” Oulds had called Locke, meeting him a few steps in front of the pan. “What’s biting you now, son?” he growled, heedless of the howling Bancrofters, who were demanding that the umpire should keep the game going. “You’ve got the wabbles; I don’t believe you can see the rubber.” He wondered at the look in Tom’s eyes. Locke moistened his dry lips. “Yes, yes, Oulds,” he said huskily; “I’m all right now.” “Well, you don’t look it,” retorted Hunchy. “Be you havin’ a fit, or what? You’ve got to stop heavin’ the ball as fast as you can git holt of it. Take your time, now. Don’t let Lisotte bunt; prob’ly he’ll try it. If they start scorin’, they’re li’ble to win the game right here.” “I tell you I’m all right now,” declared Locke savagely. “Give me the ball.”