“Why don’t you play a lot of men with crutches, and their arms in bandages?” asked the rich youth with a sneer. “I would if they could do better than some fellows I know who seem to think a ball will bat itself and catch itself,” declared the captain with energy, for there had been a slump in practice that day. It even extended to Mersfeld the crack pitcher who issued passes to a number of men and was hit more times than he liked to count. “What’s the matter with you?” demanded the coach half savagely as the scrub pulled over three runs in succession, and Mersfeld walked another man to first. “Are you dreaming that this is a tennis match, or don’t you want to play?” “Of course I want to play!” was the reply, “only I can’t be at top-notch all the while.” “You’ve got to!” was the curt decision. “If you don’t do better than this in the final try-out you’ll be a substitute instead of a regular.” “And I suppose ‘Foureyes’ Smith will have my place?” suggested Mersfeld with a sneer. “It’ll go to the man who does the best work—four eyes or eight eyes—rest assured of that. Now put some ginger into your pitching, if you can!” Stung by the words of the coach Mersfeld did a little better, and the Varsity saved the game by a narrow margin. But there were many whispers around the school and in the gymnasium that day there were strange rumors of a shake-up in the team, rumors of the strong nines which the Tuckerton Sandrim and Haydon schools had ready to put on the diamond to battle for the pennant in the interscholastic league. The opening of the season was not far off. Day by day the practice on the Westfield diamond grew harder and more exacting. Bill had gotten back all his former skill, and the little rest seemed to have done him good, for his speed increased, and his curving ability was considered remarkable by his friends. He had gotten used to the glasses which he only wore when in the box, and he hardly noticed them at all. Mersfeld, too, had taken a brace, and was doing good work, whereat coach and captain were glad. “I guess he’ll make out,” said Graydon one night when he and Mr. Windam were talking over matters. “But I’m glad we have Smith to fall back on.” “So am I. Smith may be first pitcher yet. When have you arranged for the try-out game?” “Day after to-morrow. We’ll play Mersfeld four innings on the Varsity and then give Smith a show. That will be the test.” There was so much interest in the try-out that almost as big a crowd assembled on the diamond to witness it as usually was present at a match game. Bill was a trifle nervous for he realized what he was up against, and as for Mersfeld, that pitcher went about with a confident smile on his face. “Are you going to make it?” his friends asked him. “Of course I am,” he assured them. “I’ll pitch against Tuckerton all right Saturday.”