He didn’t explain that he had walked a mile or more or that he felt about as little like pitching baseball as anyone could! Mr. Talbot viewed him doubtfully. “Well, you’d better sit down and get cooled off. How’s your arm?” “All right, sir.” “Hm! We’d just decided to let Williams start. Perhaps he had better, anyway. Captain Warner!” In response to the hail Frank Warner joined them by the bench. “Here’s Pollock,” said the coach. “He missed a train or something. What do you think about him? Shall we start him or let Williams go in?” Frank nodded to Tom. “Why, Pollock’s here, Mr. Talbot, and he might as well pitch,” he answered. “He’s all right, isn’t he?” “I guess so. I only wondered whether to save him for a few innings.” “I don’t think it’s wise to take any chances,” replied Frank. “We need this game, you know, sir.” Mr. Talbot nodded assent, glanced at his watch, and turned again to Tom. “If you’re to start this,” he said, “you’d better warm up. Johnson, come over here and catch Pollock, will you?” Johnson, who played first base on the scrubs and had accompanied the team as a substitute infielder, backed against the netting and Tom unlimbered. It was nearly twenty minutes to three now and Petersburg was clamouring for the start. Mr. Talbot was talking to the umpire, a small ferret-eyed man in a dingy blue baseball jacket, and Tom fancied that he was merely trying to delay the game long enough to allow him to warm up. Pete Farrar and Toby Williams had finished their preliminary exercise and gone back to the visitors’ bench. Pete had frowned upon Tom’s belated arrival, but Toby, who had more to lose to-day by Tom’s advent, waved cheerfully to him. It took only three or four passes of the ball to inform Tom that the morning’s exertion and nervous anxiety had left him in poor shape to pitch his best game, but as he went on his arm and wrist regained something of their skill. He wished that Mr. George was there. He’d have felt more confident. But the detective had not accompanied the team to-day. “All right, fellows,” announced Captain Warner. “High School at the bat. You’re up, Buster.” And Tom, rolling the ball toward the bench, followed it and took his place, regretful that he had not had another ten minutes of work. CHAPTER XXI KNOCKED OUT OF THE BOX Amesville had her batting eye with her to-day and Buster started things moving at once. By the time Tommy Hughes was thrown out at second on an attempted steal one run had crossed the plate and the fifty or sixty youths who had followed the Amesville team to the enemy’s lair were cheering hilariously. And when Tom stepped into the pitcher’s box they cheered again. From the first it was evident that Tom’s offerings were not breaking right. Clever fielding held Petersburg away from the platter, but two hits were made off Tom in that initial inning and one man got as far as third.