"Certainly," admitted the coach gravely.
"Then I say Parsons shan't act as substitute pitcher. I'm good for the season, and I'm going to play it out. I see his game. He wants to oust me and he's taken this means of doing it. He got you to plead for him, Mr. Lighton. I'll not stand for it."
"You're entirely mistaken, Langridge," said the coach, with the least suspicion of annoyance in his even voice. "It is my own idea. Parsons does not even know that I have spoken to you; in fact, I believe that he would not allow me to."
Langridge was sneering now.
"I guess he would," he said.
"Then you, as manager, don't want Parsons as substitute pitcher?" asked the coach.
"No!" snapped Langridge.
"Of course if you order it, Mr. Lighton," began honest Kindlings with an uneasy look at the coach—"of course if you make a point of it"
"No, I don't," and Mr. Lighton spoke quietly. "That was not my intention—just yet. Parsons will remain on the scrub then, at least for the present. Later I may—er—I may make a point of it," and he turned and walked away.
