"Oh, I don't know. I'd like to try it, though." "If you'd only put up a stiff kick in the gym that day you might be doing it now," exclaimed Luke Phelps. "Maybe," admitted the big football guard. "I call this a mighty good game, Owen Lawrence," piped Victor Collins. "What's the dif if your side is losing?" "Only a big field with a diamond all laid out, and a grand stand besides," sniffed Lawrence. "Get out! This is only the fifth game. Aren't there about ten more?" "To lose--most likely," growled Parks. "I reckon it'll do Clifton a lot of good. He used to be a regular caution. I was going to nickname him 'Vanitas' a dozen times." "Just suited to him, too, Checkers," said Aleck Parks. "You've got a wee bit of sense, after all." "Thanks! I can't return the compliment until I know you a bit better." "Some awful fresh remarks are being let loose," exclaimed Ted Pollock. "'Vanitas'! That seems to hit Tom's case about right. What inning is this--the eighth?" "Yes! And it's another case of whitewash," grumbled Parks. "There's our grand editor of the 'Reflector' at bat. Watch him. He's going to swing. Ah----" "Strike one!" came over the air. Harry Spearman dug his heel viciously into the yielding turf. The sarcastic looks on the faces of "Crackers" Brown and Owen Lawrence stung his sensitive nature. "Come on, Dick," he said, in a low tone. "I want to speak to Bob a moment." They found the captain and Coach Steele coming away from the bench on which Mr. Rupert Barry and the others were seated. Steele shook his head and laughed dryly. "Things are not breaking just the way we hoped, Harry," he said. "If we could only put a man on base once in a while I'll wager they'd manage to get around some way or other." "What does Mr. Barry think about it?" "He can't figure how it is that the boys aren't able to crack out a few base hits." "The fellows who face Tony Tippen understand it," said Bob. "Side out--back to the field for us!" The gentlemen on the "grand stand," as Victor Collins had dubbed the bench, rose to their feet a short time later, when yells, hoots, cat-calls and furious blasts from dozens of megaphones announced that something had happened. That something was Big Bill Steever dashing frantically across home plate, a feat which required the official scorer to jot down the seventh tally for the Stars. The high school team made a desperate attempt to change the monotonous list of ciphers which filled their run column. Tippen, however, held them safe. "Seven to nothing," growled Mr. Rupert Barry. "It has been a great game," chirped "Uncle" Steve. "Considering everything, I think the schoolboys put up a pretty good fight." "So do I," exclaimed Captain Bunderley, in his deep bass voice. "Our ideas differ, sir," said Mr. Barry, gripping his knotted cane as though he intended to knock some one on the head. "I'm disgusted--so completely disgusted that I hardly know how to find words to express my feelings."