Page:The spirit of the leader (IA spiritofleader00heyl).pdf/164

 "How about applying some of that same spirit to classes?"

"But I don't give a darn about classes and I do like baseball."

The coach shrugged his shoulders. "You're pinch-hitting, remember. You don't particularly like left-handed pitchers; but if I sent you in to pinch-hit against a left-hander you'd go up there with your teeth set."

"You mean I ought to go at lessons with my teeth set."

The coach made no comment.

"All right; I'll take up with the Owl next week. I can't do it this week. There's a couple of pictures coming to the Franklin theatre that I want to see."

But next week was too late. Friday afternoon Martin was called to Dr. Rue's office and told that as his general average had fallen below 70 it would be necessary to bar him from school athletics. There was a game scheduled for that afternoon. He went to the field and sat on the bench out of uniform, and glowered at Post who had been sent out to take his place.

Northfield won, but that did not bring any ease to Martin's soul. A hundred stings of self-reproach arose to taunt him. An hour here and there with his books, an hour here and there with