"Sure!" responded Tom, making a strong effort to change the channel of his thoughts. "Anything wrong, son?" Steele came forward. He lowered his voice. "You look kind of down in the mouth." "Oh, it's nothing," said Tom. "Well, get busy. I think we can turn the trick to-day." Tom had been losing his self-consciousness. Now, however, it returned with added force. The first baseman could not shake off a feeling that the fans, friends and foes alike, had their eyes upon him, watching every move. The vigorous shouts, the blasts from megaphones and the strains from Victor Collins' bugle seemed to possess an importance which he had never noticed before. He felt in a far greater degree than the other players how much hinged on the contest. With his nerves at a tension Tom was, naturally, unable to do himself justice. In his over-anxiety to play the best game of his life he made several errors which called forth derisive yells of "butterfingers!" from the familiar voice of Benny Wilkins. "Take him out!" yelled some one else. "How'd he get on the nine?" screeched Aleck Parks. "Who told him he could play ball?" shouted Jim Wilton. "It's enough to make any self-respecting trolley company refuse to carry him home," growled Luke Phelps. "I wonder if he's selling out the High?" "I suppose that kind of talk is for the good of the school?" roared a tremendous voice. Captain Bunderley glowered savagely upon the group, the members of which, a little startled at having their words overheard by so firm a friend of the Ramblers, returned his gaze without speaking. "You remind me of a mutinous crew who deserts the captain of a ship in the hour of peril." The skipper's tones spoke volumes of disapproval and disgust. "How do you expect that lad to play when you're doing everything you can to rattle him?" "Good! Soak it to 'em, Uncle Ralph," cried Victor Collins. "They certainly need it." "You may have started out honestly enough," went on the captain, relentlessly, "but your idea now seems to be to have your own way at any cost." The group was silent and sullen. Then the heavy broadside of the captain seemed to waft them away like the blasts of a hurricane. That part of the field knew them no more. "He's the noisiest old chap I ever saw," cried Aleck Parks, after a distance of two hundred feet separated them from the skipper. "I'd like to give him a piece of my mind." "Why didn't you?" asked Benny Wilkins. "Maybe your intellect suffered a complete lapse." "You're like a two-edged sword, Benny," growled Aleck. "You've got something mean to say to everybody. Fellows, the only thing I ask is this: if you see me getting anywhere near 'Checkered-Cap' to-day grab me at the front, back and sides. I'm afraid I might accidentally let fly, and pulverize him." "By Jingo! There's Brown talking to the old salt water pirate, now," put in Benny. "Another fifty feet for me. I wonder if we'd better run? His voice gives me the staggers."