lost his taste for it, and when, a few minutes later, neither side
having scored again, time was called, he trotted back to the gymnasium
in a depressed mood.

"You did great work," exclaimed Outfield West, as he joined Joel on the
river path. "That settles Cloud's chances. Remsen was laying for him
anyhow, you know, and then that 'slugging!' Remsen hates dirty playing
worse than anything, they say."

"I'm sorry it happened, though," returned Joel.

"Pshaw! don't you be afraid of Cloud. He's all bluster."

"I'm not afraid of him. But I'm sorry he lost the team through me. Of
course I couldn't have let him go by, and I don't suppose it could have
been helped, but I wish some one else had tackled him."

"Of course, it couldn't have been helped," responded West cheerfully.
"And I'm glad it couldn't. My! isn't Cloud mad! I passed him a minute or
two ago. 'You ought to try golf, Bart,' said I. You should have seen the
look he gave me. I guess it was rather like 'rubbing it in.'" And West
grinned hugely at the recollection.

"How about the tournament, West?" asked Joel.

"Fine! There are twelve entries, and we're going to begin at nine in the
morning. I did the fourth hole this afternoon in two, and the eighth in
three. No one has ever done the fourth in two before; it's the Bogey
score. Don't forget that you have promised to go around with me. They
say Whipple is practicing every morning over in Turner's meadow. What