"If I'm batted out to-day it's my finish," thought the unhappy Oakdale pitcher. "Cheer up," said a Clearporter, trotting past him. "We won't do a thing to you. If you're sick and need some medicine, we'll hand you some of the same kind we gave Newbert and Crowell." "Aw, go on!" growled Phil. "You're nothing but a lot of wind-bags." While the locals were practicing Eliot called Grant and Springer aside, giving each a ball. "Warm up, both of you," he directed. "I'll catch you." So these rivals, who had only a short time before been friends, stood off at the proper distance and pitched alternately to Eliot. Grant was steady and serene, with good control and in command of some curves, of which the drop taught him by Springer led Roger to nod his head approvingly; seeing which, Phil, who had not been right to start with, grew very wild indeed. Practice over, the Clearport captain trotted up to Roger, saying: "We're all ready. We'll take the field. Let's get to playing before it begins raining." Phil sat down on the bench, throwing his sweater over his arm for protection. The umpire called, "Play," and Nelson, cheered by the little crowd from Oakdale, stepped out with his bat. The Oakdale captain found a place at Springer's side. "Phil," he said in a low tone, "I want you to be ready to go in any time. I've decided to start the game with Grant, but we may need you any moment." CHAPTER XVII. THE BOY ON THE BENCH. For a moment Phil was dazed; then a sudden feeling of relief flashed over him. He would not have to face those dangerous Clearport batters unless Grant should be knocked out, in which case, no matter what happened after he went in, all the blame could be thrust upon Rodney. But this feeling of satisfaction lasted only a few seconds; gradually resentment and wrath crowded it out, and he sat there eaten by the bitterest emotion. Not for a moment had he dreamed Eliot would think of starting the game with the Texan on the slab, for this day he, Phil, was to be given the opportunity to redeem himself. It was an outrage, an injustice of such magnitude that his soul flamed with wrath. What if Grant were to succeed in holding the Clearporters down? In that case, of course, Eliot would permit him to pitch the game through to the finish, leaving on the bench the lad who had expected to do the twirling. And that would mean further glory for the chap Springer had thoughtlessly coached for the position of second pitcher; would mean that, if he pitched at all in future games, Phil himself would be the second string man.