And then Cobb read on and pondered upon the changes which had taken place, and which he here saw recorded as newspaper items. England, once so proud as a kingdom, now a republic; Germany following in the wake; Spain and Portugal and Italy numbered in the fold. And France! alas! poor France! up and down, changeable as a weather-vane; who could expect a stable government? La belle France! to-day a republic; to-morrow a monarchy!
Turning over the pages of the paper, his eyes lighted up with renewed interest. Though his interest was great as he read of kingdoms falling and new ones building up, here was the page that aroused his old-time enthusiasm. Yes; he was a crank—a crank of the veriest pronounced type, and he knew it as he folded out the paper in his eagerness to read:
“Boston, 18, 18 D.—The game to-day was a fine exhibition of pitching and fielding. Neither side could score until in the last innings ‘Michael,’ that descendant of the only Mike of the nineteenth century, got his wagon-tongue square against the sphere, and sent it skyward outside of the field.
“The score:
| “Innings— | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 |
| Boston | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 1 |
| New York | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 |
“Errors: none. 2 b. hits: none. 3 b. hits: none. Home run: Michael Kelley. Batteries: for Boston, Clarkson and ‘Ginty’ Carroll; for New York: Keefe and Ewing. Double plays: Boston, 5; New York, 4. Umpire: Sheridan. Time of game: 1:20.”
“The same grand game,” he murmured, “is still the national sport. It could never die! No, never!”
He read on and on. Everything was of interest to him in his new life. He read of himself, of his arrival in Washington, and of his every act during the previous day.