“You’ve done wonders for our team this afternoon, sir, and if we only had the benefit of such advice oftener it would be greatly to our benefit,” declared Frank. “Thank you for the compliment, my lad. My heart is always with the boys, and I believe I’d stop to witness a good game of ball even though it threatened to cost me a slice of my fortune. And Frank, once upon a time I _was_ a pitcher; even if I did go to the well once too often,” the visitor laughed. “I wish you had shown me a few more tricks about pitching, Mr. Willoughby,” said Frank. “Oh! I will, gladly,” said the ex-Princeton man, readily enough, “although most of the games I knew have been outlawed by time.” Some of the girls were playing basket-ball upon the school green. The sight appealed to Coach Willoughby, and he expressed a wish to stop over a brief time to witness the conclusion of the fiercely-contested game. Among the rest, Helen Allen and Minnie Cuthbert were doing pretty good work for the side they happened to be on. The visitor applauded certain plays, and almost before any one knew it he was suggesting others that opened the eyes of the girls to the fact that they had an authority on sports with them. So Buster was called upon to introduce his father’s friend, and for half an hour Coach Willoughby entered into a free lecture of advice connected with the fascinating exercise of basket-ball. And when finally the lesson came to an end, Frank walked down the street with both the girls, nor did he turn in at his own gate, but continued on until Minnie had been safely escorted to her home. He was conscious of the fact that Lef Seller saw him, for they met face to face; but Lef assumed a pleasant look and acted as though he was the last fellow in Columbia to think of bearing malice. If Frank could have seen how he pounded the pillows about when once safe up in his own room at home, muttering wild threats as to what he would do sooner or later to the fellow who had cut him out of all the good things in life, he might not have whistled so cheerily as he hurried back home for supper. It was the night before the big battle with Bellport on the home grounds of Columbia High. The whole town seethed with anticipation of what the following afternoon might bring forth. Hundreds of anxious eyes scanned the bright heavens, and tried to predict the weather that was to be meted out to them. Even the girls were adding their prayers to the clerk of the weather so that he would grant them a fine day like the preceding Saturday had been. There was so very much at stake in connection with that game. If Columbia won, the championship pennant was theirs for the year; if she lost, then another game must be played to decide the matter, thus prolonging the agony a whole week! There was to be no more practice in the morning, for Seymour believed his men were all in apple-pie condition, and that too much work might make them “go stale.”