"The Hillers look like a likely bunch," he exclaimed. "Who's that funny little man over there with a white beard? Shouldn't think he'd trot out to see a game of ball." "You couldn't drive him away with one of Nat's megaphones," said Tom. "It's 'Uncle' Steve Kimbole. Reckon he knows who stitched the first ball and who broke the last bat." The school nine, in their natty uniforms, were given a cordial greeting as they marched toward home plate. The big crowd witnessed a highly interesting game. But two costly errors and a great batting rally of the Goose Hillers in the eighth were the two principal reasons for the home team winning by the score of seven to three. On several occasions, under fire, both "Jack Frost" and Charlie Blake showed signs of going to pieces. It was a mighty disgusted lot of boys that finally boarded the Kingswood trolley. Several scouts, who had been eager to pick up whatever crumbs of information fell from the lips of Mr. Barry, were on the same car, as anxious to supply the news as the others were to hear it. "He was downright mad," announced Luke Phelps, who had the honor of carrying three bats and three pairs of gloves. Phelps waited so that this news could have all the bad effect possible. "Anybody could see that," added a junior. Not all the boys had been able to find seats, but Phelps, nowise bashful in company, spoke loud enough for all to hear, as he continued: "Yes--he said it certainly looked as if the corn would win the field. He kicked about lack of judgment on several plays, and----" "Said Somers needs stronger and heavier players," broke in another junior, eagerly--"heard that with my own ears." "You couldn't have heard it with anybody else's," growled Art Bowers. "Say anything more?" came a query from the front end of the car. "A whole lot of things," answered Phelps, with importance, "but I can't think of any just now." "Another sad, sad day," remarked "Crackers" Brown, solemnly. "You chaps are talking like a bunch of quitters," howled Tom. "I'm just stating facts." "We're not discouraged, Brown," said Bob Somers. "The team hasn't shown its true form yet." "Of course it hasn't," asserted Roger Steele. "Just give us a chance, boys. There was a little lack of team work in to-day's game, and"--he smiled rather grimly--"some of the boys were a bit rattled by the noise and excitement. They couldn't do themselves justice." "I guess he means me." Charlie Blake's foot touched the heel of his neighbor's shoe. "Oh, I don't know," returned the other, encouragingly. He lowered his voice. "When the fellows were most yelling their heads off, didn't 'Jack Frost' send three men to base on balls in succession?" "Just as soon as the game is over I feel how much better I could have played," sighed Charlie. "Honest fact--all that rooting does get on my nerves." "Just because you're not used to it."