"Hey!" cried Phil, dodging. "What are you trying to do, Hooker?"

But it was not Hooker who shut off the motor and tumbled off the machine as it slackened speed. It was Herbert Rackliff, soaked, mud-bespattered, limp and in a temper.

"Why in the d.i.c.kens don't you get out of a fellow's way?" snapped Herbert, supporting the machine and glaring round at Phil. He bore little resemblance to the usual dapper, immaculate, self-possessed young fellow from the city whose tailored clothes and swagger manners had aroused the envy and admiration of a number of country lads thereabouts.

"Oh, is it you?" said Springer. "I thought it was Hooker. What are you doing out in this rain with his machine?"

"Just getting back from Clearport," answered Herbert, with a sour laugh. "If I owned this old mess of junk I'd pay somebody to take it away. She stopped twice on me and skidded me into the ditch once.

Came mighty near leaving her there and hoofing it."

In truth, Rackliff was a sight, and Springer restrained a laugh with some difficulty as he observed:

"It must have taken you a deuce of a while to get back on that thing, for the game was over by three o'clock."

"Half past three," corrected Herbert, turning to trundle the motorcycle toward the carriage house, the door of which, seen through the twilight, was standing open.

"I caught the three-twelve train from Clearport," said Phil, unconsciously starting to follow Rackliff.

"Huh!" grunted the other. "Know you did, but you didn't wait to see the finish. If you had----"

By this time Springer was at the speaker's side and had seized his mud-spattered, rain-soaked sleeve.

"What are you talking about?" he cried. "Rain stopped the game right after the fifth. Saw I had barely time to get into my togs and catch that three-twelve, so I hustled."

Rackliff started to laugh, but finished with a hollow cough. "Bet I've caught a rotten cold," he gasped. "The game went for the full nine innings. Didn't begin to rain until I was pretty near halfway home."

Phil was struck dumb for the moment, and before he could recover Hooker, having heard their voices, came running out to the carriage house, calling to Rackliff. Springer followed the drenched and complaining city youth into the shelter of the building, where Roy recognized him and seemed to betray embarra.s.sment.

"Take your old machine," said Rackliff, "and I hope it may be my everlasting finish if I ever ride another rod on it. Look at me! I'm a complete wreck, and all because you were too blamed stingy to lend me the price of carfare from Clearport. This suit is ruined, and I'm soaked to the bone. You ought to use an axe on the thing next time it gets out of order, Hooker."

"And these are the thanks I get for furnishing some means of transportation," said Roy resentfully. "Well, I don't know that I should expect anything else."

Herbert, producing his cigarette case, gave a little half-muttered sigh of relief when he found that the contents of the case had escaped a wetting.

"Gimme a match, one of you fellows," he coughed. "I'm just crazy for a smoke. This has been the rottenest day I've seen in a long time."

Hooker, having seen that the motorcycle was placed on its rack, supplied the match, and Rackliff fired up, the light seeming to shine through his thin, cupped hands as he protected the blaze from the light draught that came in through the open door. He looked tired, and the first whiff or two set him coughing again.

By this time Springer had recovered, and he ventured to ask:

"What's this Rackliff tells me about the gug-game going nine innings?

It began to rain in the fifth and, wishing to get home as soon as I could, I ducked when that was over. I didn't have an idea----"

"It didn't rain any to speak of until long after the full game was over," said Hooker. "You should have stayed, Phil; they wanted you--bad--in the eighth. Eliot was simply tearing things up in his frenzy to find you."

"Why--why, what happened?" faltered Springer, a sickening feeling stealing over him. "Tut-tell me what ha-happened, Roy."

"The Porters got after Grant and b.u.mped him to beat the band. Came within one tally of tying the score. If you'd been there Eliot would have shoved you in, and you'd had a chance to win all sorts of glory saving the game."

"Perhaps he would, and perhaps he wouldn't," muttered Phil.

"Oh, it's a dead sure thing he would have done it."

"How do you know?"

"Didn't I tell you he tried to find you! Why, he even sent for me; he was going to put me in."

"You?" breathed Springer incredulously.

"Yes, me; and I didn't have on a playing suit. If Grant hadn't managed to steady down at the last moment, I'd gone onto the slab. What made you skin out, Phil?"

After a few moments of silence, Springer forced himself by a great effort to speak:

"I tut-told you I thought the game was o-over."

"You might have waited for the rest of the bunch. If you'd done that you'd known it wasn't over. The fellows are pretty sore on you, for they say you deserted."

Phil flushed and flared. "Let them be sore, I don't care! I'm the one to be sore! I got a rotten deal to-day. I had every reason to suppose I was going to pitch that game, but Roger Eliot ran Grant in. I want him to understand he can't play that sort of fuf-funny business with me; I won't sus-stand for it. I'm glad they hammered Grant! Did they win?"

"No; we pulled through by the skin of our teeth--seven to six. It was an awful snug rub. I believe I could have stopped the Porters if I'd got the chance; I'm dead sure you could. That's why I say you made a big mistake by scooting."

Herbert Rackliff, smoking, laughed sneeringly.

"Don't blame Springer a bit," he said. "He did get a rotten deal, and he has a right to resent it. What ails you, Hook; are you going to let Eliot softsoap round you? He'll do it if you'll let him, for he's got to have some sort of a scrub pitcher to fall back on for part of the work. Of course, this wild and woolly Texan will be the star and get all the glory, but somebody must do the dirty work. Hook, you're a lobster. I didn't think you'd fall for taffy like that. You give me a cramp." He coughed behind a thin hand as he finished, his flat chest torn and his stooping shoulders shaken by the effort.

"Now that will about do for you!" blazed Roy, turning on his erstwhile chum. "I want you to know that, at least, I'm no traitor to my school team, and, though you hinted for me to favor you to-day, I'd done my level best to win for Oakdale if I'd ever got the chance."

"You're a fool," returned Herbert coldly. "Springer is a fool, too.

He made a chump of himself when he taught Grant to pitch. In this world the fellow who looks out for himself and lets others do the same for themselves is the one who gets along. You can bank on that every time. Think it over and see if I'm not right. Good night." With which expression of selfish wisdom, he turned up his coat collar, snapped aside his half-smoked cigarette and took his departure, leaving Phil and Roy staring at each other in uncomfortable silence.

After a time Springer succeeded in forcing a laugh.

"That's just about what you told me a few days ago, Hook," he said, "but I really didn't need anyone to point out that I had made a fool of myself. Sorry I didn't wait to make sure rain was going to stop the game to-day. What makes it worse, I told my folks a lie about that game. I'll feel cheap enough when they fuf-find out the truth. Guess I'll be going, too. So long, Hook."

"Good night," said Roy.

He stood at the open door and watched Phil's figure disappear into the gloom of the rainy night that was coming on.

"Told your folks a lie, did you?" he muttered after a time. "Well, that wasn't half as bad as stealing from them, and I----" Without finishing the sentence, he closed the door of the carriage house.

CHAPTER XXI.

A PERSISTENT RASCAL.

Nearly always it is false pride that spurs on the naturally decent fellow who realizes he has made a mistake and knows deep down in his heart that the course he is pursuing is wrong. Thus it was with Phil Springer. Time and again his conscience condemned him and his judgment bade him come forth like a man and own up to his error, but his pride would not let him yield.