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 talked to them that way before. Aroused by his attack they played the game—for a day or two, anyway. Then Commodore Farragut High School came to Northfield with a team that was notoriously weak, and was barely beaten by a score of 10 to 8. Only one ray of hope stood out at the end of the afternoon. Post had played a game of desperate strength. He had shut off what looked like a winning Farragut rally and had batted in four of Northfield's ten runs.

The coach tried to take heart. "Victory may spur them," he told himself; but in the next game Northfield was beaten by a score of 4 to 1 and sank into a profound slough of despondency.

Post came to Jennings after the game. "If—if you'd rather try some body else at short—" he began with an effort.

The coach silenced him. "You're playing the game."

What followed was a nightmare. Four games in a row what should have been won were lost. Days when the batting was strong, the fielding was wretched; and when the fielding tightened the batting fell off. Jennings himself came to the verge of despair. But because there was that in him that would never bow its head meekly to defeat, he strove desperately to breathe life into his team and to compel it to play the game of