The altercation was attracting considerable attention. A grinning crowd, industriously calling upon the two principals to "mix it up a bit," presently brought the realization to Tom that his thoughtless remark uttered in the gymnasium was being scattered broadcast. "Said Mr. Barry was an eccentric old creature!" jeered Benny, "and has the nerve to try and call me down for something not a quarter as bad!" "You've got the tall one going!" cried an Engleton boy, encouragingly. "Don't be skeered. Wade right into him." "I'll sic a goat on him; that's what I'll do!" exclaimed Benny. "Hello, Tom Clifton! Hello, Tom!" coming over the air was the most pleasant sound the first baseman had heard for some time. "We're ready for practice," continued the voice--Roger Steele's. "Hello, Tom! Where are you?" "Coming!" bawled Tom. Then darting an angry, flustered look at his little tormentor, he added: "I haven't done with you yet, Benny Wilkins." "Is that so?" sneered Benny. "If you and Blake had sense enough to get off the team maybe all this row in the school would come to an end." "Do you think I'll stand for being pushed off? Well, I rather guess not!" cried Tom. "Have a wooden head-piece, have I? Well, it isn't a solid block like yours. Just remember: If the school doesn't get those grounds T. 'Vanitas' Clifton will be one of the chaps who's most responsible. Everybody's saying it." Embarrassed and confused by the staring, noisy crowd, so full of emotion that his tongue seemed almost incapable of framing the words he wished to utter, the first baseman turned away. "Everybody saying it, eh?" Tom Clifton's thoughts sprang back to the beginning of the season, when, full of confidence and enthusiasm, he had expected the High's team to go from one victory to another. "Vanitas!" The word rang in his ears. He recalled now that his zeal and earnest efforts in behalf of the nine had called forth remarks of a somewhat similar nature before. But his armor of confidence was so great that the shafts dropped harmlessly aside. "I never could have believed it," he murmured. "The fellows are twisting my words and manner into something wholly undeserved. They ought to see that it was only because I'm red-hot for the school and team." The first baseman was so deep in thought that he scarcely heeded the voices of the fans, or the sharp cracks of the bats as the balls were sent flying over the field. "So everybody's saying it: if we don't get the field I'll be one of the chaps who's most responsible, eh? By George! I wonder if it's true! I'll find out before night." Tom's thoughts turned to the crowd--the fickle crowd--ever ready to yell itself hoarse when things were breaking right, but which, he reflected bitterly, was often equally ready to jeer and hoot a player off the field on small provocation. "What's the matter, Tom? Aren't you going to practice to-day?" called Roger Steele, catching sight of him from his position near home plate.