only fellows who know how to play ball."

Hi stalked away in moody, but dignified silence. Yet, though
he could ignore the players and sympathizers of other nines, it
was not so easy to get away from the grilling of his own schoolmates.

"Huh!" remarked one North boy. "You told us, Martin, that you'd
prove to us the benefit of having a real captain for a nine.
Why didn't you?"

"Martin, you're all wind," growled another keenly disappointed
North. "You talked a lot about what you'd do with the nine---and
what have you done? Left us the boobies of the league. We're
the winners of the leather medal."

"Why didn't you play yourself, then?" snarled Hi.

"I wish I had. But we Norths were fooled by the talk you gave
us about how baseball really ought to be played and managed.
You're the school's mascot, you are, Hi Martin. Not!"

In the meantime Dick Prescott was being surrounded by anxious
Central Grammar boys.

"Dick," said one of them, while others listened eagerly, "you
beat the Norths. But you didn't give them any such drubbing as
the Souths did to-day. Are they a better nine than ours?"

"No," Prescott answered promptly.