straight, and then strike out the next three without a break."
"Oh, but this one never could do a thing like that. He can't put even a straight one over; he hasn't a bit of control."
"You talk like a fan, Janet. Your father is such a crank—er, excuse me!—that he wouldn't let you see the games last year. Where did you pick up your knowledge?"
"Boarding school. Some of us girls used to get to the college games on Saturday. I declare, I do believe he's going to walk this batter, too! Why don't they take him out and let some one pitch who knows how?"
"There's Cope talking to the manager on the bench. The old man is stubborn, and I presume he's set on giving the great pitcher he signed all the show possible. It hurts his pride to see the fellow fizzle this way."
Janet's blue eyes flashed. "It's simply dreadful!" she panted. "Every day last year I got the score of the games, and it made me ill when our team went to pieces at last, the way it did. And everybody has been saying we'd surely beat Bancroft this year. Hear them mocking us over there! Oh, I'm sorry I came to-day!"
"Cheer up; the game isn't lost just because a
