| Martin | ||||
|---|---|---|---|---|
| R | H | O | A | E |
| 2 | 3 | 3 | 7 | 0 |
"Ten fielding chances without an error," Jennings murmured, "and three hits out of four times at bat." The game had been played out of town, and when the trolley reached the Bank corner in Northfield the coach swung down to the ground and waited for his star player.
"You won't forget about the Owl, will you?" he asked.
"I may look him up to-night," said Martin.
However, he didn't. His three-base hit in the sixth inning had won the game, and it was pleasant to idle along Main Street after supper and enjoy the adulation of those students he chanced to meet. Trouble at the moment seemed obscure and remote. The taste of triumph dwarfed every other issue.
Jennings came to him four days later. "Did you see the Owl?"
"No." Martin felt the need of justification. "The practice has been running late, and at night I've had to study"
The coach's smile was disconcerting. "Prof. Matier tells me you're a total loss in French. You haven't been studying French, have you?"
Martin flushed. "I've never been any good at languages."
