"Have you asked any of the other top-grade students to give you a hand?"
"No."
"Been studying any harder in the hope that you and the Owl would get together later?"
"N—No. What was the use? I didn't know if it would do me any good."
"In other words," the coach said icily, "you figured you didn't have much chance and refused to run out your hit. You're not worth helping. Turn in your uniform and stop coming to the practice."
The boy flushed angrily. "Is that how you stand by me after I've given you my best?"
"That," said the coach, "is how I stand by the player who has given the school his worst."
Next day Martin did not come to the practice. His locker, open and empty, served mute notice that he was through. In the gym, before going out to the field, Jennings faced the squad.
"There was a time," he said, "when my heart warmed to see you in action. I thought I had a ball team; I felt that the school could be proud of you. Now I have my doubts. What's the color of your blood, red or yellow? Are you a bunch of fighters or a collection of quitters? Show me."
They were stung by his words. He had never
