that there was a meetin' comin' on for Thursday to settle whuther Lefty belongs to us or not, and maybe the games he's pitched won't be counted."
"They can't throw them out!" snapped Stark savagely. "They've got to count them. And if we lose Locke we're going to be in bad."
"You mean Hazelton, don't ye?" grinned Hinkey. "They say it's settled that that's his right name. As a rule, I don't think much of college guys, but I own up that Lefty is some pitcher, and we'll miss him."
Despite his words, his tone was not suggestive of worriment. Hinkey was one of the men brought to the team by Bob Hutchinson.
Tom Locke did not eat much that night. He hurried to the dining room at the Central Hotel. Two cups of coffee, hot and strong, made the greater part of his meal. They steadied him.
Dashing up to his room, he found the blue serge suit, freshly pressed and carefully laid out on his bed. It took him twenty minutes to make a complete change, even though he was possessed by an almost feverish desire to hurry. And, as a rule, when he hurried he could do it in half that time.
Taking a final peep at himself in the mirror, he extinguished the light and went out. When bidding him adieu on Sunday, the girl had invited him
