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 in telling you that 'Speed' Martin is just about thirty-five per cent. of the team. If we lost Martin we'd be pretty well shot. But, of course, you know that."

Strictly speaking, the Middlesex Owl didn't know anything of the kind. But it was rather pleasant to be made the recipient of confidences from the celebrated Mr. Jennings, and the Owl blinked his eyes solemnly and nodded.

"The truth is," the coach went on, "I think Martin's getting into trouble in classes."

This time the Owl's eyes did not have to pretend interest and knowledge. He was thoroughly aware of the shortstop's educational shortcomings. More that once he had wondered, back in the hidden recesses of his own brain, how any person in his right senses could translate French as weirdly as Martin translated it.

"If he gets less than a 70 average," Mr. Jennings said, "he'll be barred from baseball. Then what will happen to the nine? Where will the school be in the Monroe game? It's a question of standing by Northfield, Owl, and I've come to you."

The Owl had a moment of panic. "You're not thinking of asking me to play in Martin's place?"

The coach suppressed a smile. "No; not that. I want to know, if the time comes when Martin