“Say, I’ll bet you can hold down a sack all right, Bill,” replied the other. “Tell you what. You wait for me to give you the signal, see? When I see that Steve’s got his temper back I’ll pipe you off. But don’t you tackle him before. Here they come now. Thanks, kid. Keep out of the way awhile.” Wayne tossed the ball back, nodded and loitered aside as the players emerged from the dressing-room. Wayne thought them a very likely-looking lot as they made their way around to the bench, followed by a man lugging two big bat-bags. In age they ran from nineteen to thirty, he judged. One, a broad-shouldered and powerful-looking man, appeared even older than thirty and wore a heavy mustache, something that none of the others had. The big man looked decidedly cross, Wayne thought, and he wondered if he had been the principal object of Manager Milburn’s wrath. The manager himself Wayne failed to see. No one paid any attention to Wayne. All the players looked very grave and solemn, but Wayne caught one, a youth not much older than he, winking at a companion and concluded that the solemnity was largely assumed. It was the man with the mustache who took command of the situation just then. “Now show some pep!” he barked. “Get out there and act alive. Some of you stuffed sausages will be benched mighty quick if you don’t wake up, and I’m giving it to you square. Ten dollars a month would buy the lot of you if anyone made the offer!” Wayne awoke to the fact that the mustached man was Mr. Steve Milburn, something he had not suspected, since he had thought to find the manager in street clothes. Wayne viewed his angry countenance with sinking heart. The big pitcher was right, he concluded. This was no moment to approach Mr. Milburn with the expectation of getting a hearing. He made himself as small and inconspicuous as he might, finding a seat on the empty bench, and for the ensuing half-hour watched the Harrisville Badgers go through their morning practice. CHAPTER XVII TURNED DOWN!