"Is it possible," he muttered, shaking his head, "that this is the great Lefty Locke? If so, it must be true that his star is on the decline. Alas and alack, life is filled with such bitter disappointments." Whether the regret of Wiley was real or pretended, it was shared by a large part of the spectators, who were friendly to the local team; for Locke had become very well liked in Fernandon, both by the citizens of the place and the Northern visitors. It must not be imagined that, with the corners crowded and no one down, Locke was fully at his ease. He had decided to make this game the test of his ability to "come back," and already it looked as if the first inning would give him his answer. If he could not successfully hold in check this heterogeneous collection of bush talent, it was easy to understand what would happen to him the next time he essayed to twirl for the Blue Stockings. A sickening sense of foreboding crept over him, but his lips wore a smile, and he showed no sign of being perturbed. Schepps was at the plate, having discarded one of the bats he had been swinging. He grinned like a Cheshire cat. "Always t'ought I could bump a real league pitcher," he said. "Put one acrost, pal, an' I'll tear der cover off." Locke hesitated. He had been using the new delivery he had acquired to spare his shoulder. In previous games it had proved effective enough to enable him to continue four or five innings, but now-- Suddenly he whipped the ball to third, sending Nuccio diving headlong back to the sack. The crafty little Italian had been creeping off, ready to make a flying dash for the plate. He was safe by a hair. "Not on your movie film!" cried Cap'n Wiley. "It can't be done!" Lefty did not hear him. He was gazing past the Marine Marvel at the face of a man who, taking care to keep himself unobtrusively in the background, was peering at him over the shoulders of a little group of spectators--a grinning, mocking derisive face. It was Weegman. And Weegman knew! CHAPTER VIII AT NECESSITY'S DEMAND Even after the ball was thrown back from third, and Lefty had turned away, that grinning, mocking face continued to leer at him. Wherever he looked it hovered before his mental vision like a taunting omen of disaster. He was "all in," and Weegman knew it. The man had told him, with sneering bluntness, that his "old soup bone was on the blink." Yet, entertaining this settled conviction regarding Locke's worthlessness as a pitcher, Weegman had made a long and wearisome journey in order that he might be absolutely sure, by putting the deal through in person, of signing the southpaw for the Blue Stockings at an increased salary. The very fact that he had been offered the position of manager, under conditions that would make him a mere puppet without any real managerial authority, gave the proposition a blacker and more sinister look.