Page:The spirit of the leader (IA spiritofleader00heyl).pdf/196

 The picture of the near-sighted Owl in a baseball uniform was ludicrous—but Jennings did not smile.

For Hastings the game was over. The contest ran on, inning after inning, but the result had already been written. One team had tasted victory and would not be denied; the other had seen the spectre of defeat and had lost heart. When the ninth inning began the read Northfield, 9; Opponents, 5. And so it read when the last Hastings batter had been thrown out.

On the bench there was a frenzied scramble for sweaters* bats and gloves. The Owl stood up, rescued his hat, and took a step after the crowd.

"Hey," cried Vance, "where are you going?"

"Home."

"Home? You're coming to the locker room. You were just about the biggest man on this team to-day; and you're going to stay with us to the finish."

"Proper spirit," said Littlefield. "Gosh, what a difference it makes." He was thinking at the moment that this strange boy wrote himself, on the school records, as of Room 13.

To the Owl it was still incomprehensible. But they were plainly sincere, and it had been a long time since Northfield students had singled him out for company. He went along.