"Have they had another?" cried Simmons, eagerly, jumping to his feet and planting himself in front of Owen. "Tell me, have they had another? What was it?" Owen grinned and nodded. "Some queer little olive-green lizards, about three inches long, with small red spots all over them. I didn't know the things." "How did it come? They've kept their door locked for a long time, and they hardly dare open a window." "In the laundry bag," chuckled Owen. "It was left outside their door, and the lizards just went to sleep in it. There was the usual ticket tied to one of their tails, 'The Fifth Plague.'" "I don't think that's so awfully bad," said Simmons, after some reflection. "A lizard wouldn't scare me much." "That's what Don said," replied Rob, smiling as he recalled the scene. "He thought it showed Payner was about at the end of his resources. But Duncan said the season was just opening, and half the plagues were yet to come, always supposing that Payner would be content with the biblical number. When I left them they were still arguing--well, I've got to get over to see Patterson." Owen took up his hat again. Simmons was standing by the window. The boy turned around as Owen approached the door, and said apologetically: "I think I'll go in and tell Payner I've changed my mind. I may as well go with him after all." "That's right!" called Owen, from the door. "And be sure you tell me all about it." And he ran downstairs with a light heart, eager to see Patterson and plan the signal service for the afternoon. Half an hour afterward he was still sitting at one side of Patterson's table, with the pitcher on the other and the notes between them. The conversation, however, was no longer concerned with signals. "I tell you it's so," Owen was declaring. "One of the first two balls pitched has got to be put over. If not, you're in a hole." "I don't see that," said Patterson. "Well, I can prove it to you," said Owen, confidently. "Look here, now. When you start in with a batter, the chances are four to three in favor of the pitcher, aren't they? He has four balls to give away, and the batter has three chances to strike. Really the odds in favor of the pitcher are much greater, because even if you give the batter a ball that he can hit, there are eight men lying in wait for it, and one of 'em is likely to get it." Patterson nodded. "Now, as long as you can keep the batter uncertain whether the ball that's coming is good or bad, you have him at a disadvantage, haven't you? But when you're so fixed that you must put 'em over, he's got you at a disadvantage." "I can see that," said Patterson.