“Oh! so you’re there, are you?” he sneered “I was just telling your good friend Larry here that I considered you a greatly overrated substitute pitcher; and that luck had as much to do with our winning that game today as anything you did.”

Frank Bird laughed in his face.

“Sure,” he declared, cheerily.  “I was a mighty small factor in the victory, for I only played in one short inning.  If I’d faced those hard hitters of Cranford nine times I reckon it’d be hard to tell what they’d have done to my poor inshoots and curves.”

“But you held them in that inning, Frank, you know you did!” cried Larry.

“Mere accident, my boy.  Happened to be the weak end of their batting list!” observed Frank, as if determined to agree with his enemy, and thus spike his guns.

“Is that so?” demanded “Elephant” Small, who did not happen to be on the nine, because of his customary slow ways.  “Perhaps you’ll be saying that dandy two-bagger you whanged out, that brought in the winning run, was also an accident?”

“Well, I must have just shut my eyes, and struck.  I seem to remember hearing a sound like a shot, and then they all yelled to me to run; so I did, going on to second in time to see Peterkin gallop home,” and Frank looked as sober as a judge as he said this.  The others saw the joke, however, and, led by Larry, burst out into a laugh that made Puss and his loyal backers scowl.

“If that bingle was an accident, don’t we wish we had a few more players who could shut their eyes and meet Frazer’s terrible speed balls and curves in the same way!” one fellow exclaimed.

“So say we all of us!” another cried.

Puss realized that the majority on board the Siren were against him.  But he was not given to taking water; even his enemies, and he had many in Bloomsbury, could hardly say that Puss was lacking in a certain kind of grit; while stubbornness he possessed in abundance.

So he just shut his white teeth hard together, and looked scowlingly around the bunch of fellows.  And many of them felt a little chill when those cold gray eyes rested upon them; for they knew of old what happened when Puss Carberry made up his mind to mark a boy for future attention.

Frank still stood there by the side of the boat, smiling.  Perhaps his very apparent unconcern served to make the other still more angry.  There had been bad blood between these two lads for a long time, and more than once it threatened an eruption, which somehow or other had up to now been stayed.

Although some weeks had passed since the much-talked-of race between the rival aeroplanes, piloted by these two boys, in which Frank took his little craft up to the lofty summit of Old Thunder Top ahead of Puss in his biplane, as narrated in the first volume of this series, entitled “The Bird Boys; or, The Young Sky Pilot’s First Air Voyage,” the latter had never ceased to feel ugly over his defeat.