sity team, but, as Kerr said, that was no excuse. There were almost jeers mingled with the cheers of the preparatory school lads, and it was a sore and sorrowful lot of freshmen who made their way to the special trolley cars, the stalled one having been brought up in the meanwhile.
"Who's eating cloves?" asked Sid Henderson as he piled into the electric and threw his big mitt on the seat beside him.
"Have some?" asked Langridge, holding out a quantity. "I had toothache and I took a few."
"No, thanks, don't use 'em," replied Sid with a quick look at the pitcher, whose eyes were unnaturally bright. "But if you have any ginger about you, it might come in handy."
"Ginger how?"
"For this team. We need it. To be beaten by a bunch of schoolboys!"
'Well, we didn't have our regular team," explained Langridge. "Besides, I didn't have any support. I pitched well, but you fellows didn't back me up."
There was an arrogant look on his face.
"Yes, you pitched well, you did," exclaimed Kerr with an unconcealed sneer in his voice. "You did hot work, you did."
"What about my three-bagger?"
"That didn't make up for your rotten pitching!"
The others looked at Kerr in surprise. It was
