"Poole's been here to see you," said Simmons, looking up. "He says the Clippers have gone back on him--they couldn't get their pitcher--so he's going to have a five-inning game between two nines. He wants you and Patterson as battery for the second. Game starts at three. You're to be up there as soon after two as possible for preliminary practice. I told him I'd tell you." Simmons recited his message as he would a well-studied theorem in geometry, and, having recited it, buried himself again in his book. He was a most accurate little person,--tiresomely accurate, Rob sometimes thought. On this occasion, however, Rob's face lighted up at his roommate's words; and though he opened his mouth to ask a question, he closed it immediately with the question unasked. The message was complete. It was also welcome; if he had planned an arrangement that would give Pat the best chance to show his powers it couldn't have been better. And now the opportunity had come unsought! If they did well, the credit was wholly theirs; if they failed, no hopes would be disappointed but their own. "I'm going over to see Pat," he said, clapping on his hat again. There were some uncertainties about signals which must be cleared up before the afternoon. Then a new thought came to him, and he dropped into a chair by his desk to jot down several memoranda on a blank sheet. When he looked up, he found Simmons's eyes fixed upon him with the discouraged expression which sometimes haunted them, particularly after a visit home. Simmons was a most conscientious student, an excellent scholar in languages, and personally quite unassuming and inoffensive. But he was not strong physically, and in occasional times of weakness or weariness was likely to dwell morbidly on the contrast between his own situation and that of his more robust, lively, and popular associates. Rob understood at a glance that this was one of Simmons's homesick days, so he tucked his notes away in his pocket and turned to his apathetic little chum. "Going to the game?" he asked in a hearty tone. "No," replied Simmons, dropping his eyes again to the page before him. "I don't care anything about baseball." "Why don't you go up the river, then? You ought to be outdoors somewhere on a day like this." "I'd rather stay here. Payner asked me to go up with him, but I don't think I should enjoy his society." "Payner!" exclaimed Owen, staring at his companion with an interest no longer forced. Then he threw back his head and laughed aloud. Simmons put down his book. "I don't see anything so funny in that. Why shouldn't he invite me if he wants to?" "He should, and if I were invited I'd go, if I had to cut ball practice to do it." Simmons looked his astonishment, but said nothing. "You might find out where he gets the things that he bestows on the Pecks," continued Owen.