by and by its music took on the sound of funeral dirges.
When the Owl, summoned by a player who had apparently been sent by Jennings, began to walk across the field toward the distant gym, a note of interest ran through the crowd. When he disappeared into the building, interest became a buzz of excited comment. But when the gym door opened and the Owl came forth with the players, arm in arm with Capt. Littlefield, the stand sat stunned. Here was something that no stretch of the imagination could explain. The Owl did not come back to his place in the seventh row. On he went to the bench, and dropped down beside Jennings, and stuck out his long legs so that they were a hazard to any catcher who might come running back after a foul.
Hastings had the field, and was practicing with snap and dash. Confidence was reflected in every movement of the players. Jennings smiled a crooked smile. Why shouldn't Hastings be confident, facing a team that had won but two games out of seven? His own nine had come forth from the locker rejuvenated. Would it last? He had started them on the road; would they hold it? Would the old apathy lay hold of them and throttle their zest?
He watched with burning eyes when Northfield
