That same morning Jennings faced hard and bitter facts. His nine was demoralized. Panic had seized it and had marked it for slaughter. It was not a crass, selfish itch for material victory that tortured him; the agony that writhed his soul was the pain of a designer, a planner, a general, who sees a smooth, beautiful piece of baseball machinery going to waste and falling into utter decay. Two things were imperative. He had to steady Post and to make an effort to induce the Owl to help. Why the boy had refused to come to Martin's aid he did not know. Martin had told him nothing but the mere fact of refusal. Yet the coach was positive that some vital reason lay behind the course the Owl had taken. Thus far, he had purposely kept his hands off. He did not like to mix in on a question of scholarship. But the time had come when he felt that he was forced to make at least one effort to save the situation.
His first duty—his immediate concern—lay with Post. Post was with the nine. At the best, Martin could not hope to join the lineup until next month. At noon he went to the cafeteria, found Post eating there, and called to him from the doorway.
Two hundred students saw Post thus summoned. An unspoken whisper ran the rounds of
