the Owl, and he could have avoided this. He had expected cutting sarcasm from the coach and bitter speech from Capt. Littlefield. After the first expression of dismay Littlefield had frozen into silence. Jennings had made no comment at all. And Martin had walked out to the bench tortured all at once by the knowledge that neither was surprised. As a pinch-hitter he had failed. They had expected it.
He came back to the gym. After other games he had held his place there by right, elbowing for his turn under the showers, taking part in the good-natured horseplay. To-day he felt as one apart. One by one the players dressed and departed, spoke to him as they went out in a manner forced and constrained. He read in their manner condemnation of his failure, and it rasped along the raw of his wound. I'll at ease he stood up and turned toward the door.
"Martin!" Jennings had spoken. He waited. The coach led him outside and closed the door.
"Where will you be at about nine o'clock to-night?"
"Home."
"Be sure you're there. I'll be along about that time."
Martin had no appetite for supper. Uncertainty as to what the visit might mean made him
