"Let's git right down to cases," said Riley abruptly. "You know, a place like Bancroft can't afford to let a raw, mushroom burg of this sort beat it out at baseball, or anything else. We're willin' the games should run close, so's to keep the int'rest up, but we've got to feel all the time that we've got somethin' up our sleeves that'll land us sure at the head of the column when the season finishes."
"Go ahead," nodded Hutchinson, as the speaker paused. "Don't mind me."
"I know you well enough, Hutch," pursued the Bancroft manager significantly, "to be dead sure you ain't goin' out and tattle anything I say to you in confidence. Well, our strongest hitters are left-handers, and that southpaw o' yourn bothers 'em. Kingsbridge 'u'd like to win the pennant; but, next to winnin' herself, she'd be satisfied to keep us from coppin' it. Havin' found a pitcher that can hold us down, she'll keep him for that express purpose, no matter how the games with the other teams go. I own up that that pitcher looks like a nasty stumblin' block, and we'd like to git him outer our way."
"We've got to do it!" put in Fancy.
Still cautious about his words before Dyke, Hutchinson made no comment.
