As Jones continued invulnerable in the last of the eighth, the visitors made their final assault upon Matthews in the ninth. But fortune was against them. The game ended with Wiley greatly disappointed, though still cheerful. "A little frost crept into my elbow in the far-away regions of the North," he admitted. "I'll shake it out in time. If I'd started old Jonesy against Lefty, there would have been a different tale to tell." The Wind Jammers were booked to play in Jacksonville the following afternoon, but they remained in Fernandon overnight. Seated on the veranda of the Magnolia, Wiley was enjoying a cigar after the evening meal, and romancing, as usual, when Locke appeared, limping, with the aid of a cane. "It grieves me to behold your sorry plight," said the Marine Marvel sympathetically. "I cajole with you most deprecatingly. But why, if you were going to get hurt at all, weren't you obliging enough to do it somewhat earlier in the pastime? That would have given my faithful henchmen a chance to put the game away on ice." "You can't be sure about that," returned Lefty. "You collected no more scores off Matthews than you did off me." "But you passed us six nice, ripe goose eggs, while he dealt out only one. There was a difference that could be distinguished with the unclothed optic. Nevertheless, it seems to me that Jones had something on you; while he officiated, you were the only person who did any gamboling on the cushions, and what you did didn't infect the result. What do you think of Jones?" "Will you lend me your ear while I express my opinion privately?" "With the utmost perspicacity," said Wiley, rising. "Within my boudoir--excuse my fluid French--I'll uncork either ear you prefer and let you pour it full to overflowing." In the privacy of Wiley's room, without beating around the bush, Locke stated that he believed Jones promising material for the Big League, and that he wished to size up the man. "While I have no scouting commission or authority," said Lefty, "if Kennedy should manage the Blue Stockings this season, he'd stand by my judgment. The team must have pitchers. Of course, some will be bought in the regular manner, but I know that, on my advice, Kennedy would take Jones on and give him a show to make good, just as he gave me a chance when I was a busher. I did not climb up by way of the minors; I made one clean jump from the back pastures into the Big League." "Mate," said Wiley, "let me tell you something a trifle bazaar: Jones hasn't the remotest ambition in the world to become a baseball pitcher." Locke stared at him incredulously. The swarthy little man was serious--at least, as serious as he could be. "Then," asked the southpaw, "why is he pitching?" "Tell _me!_ I've done a little prognosticating over that question." "You say he does not talk about himself. How do you--"