When You Were a Boy

by Edwin L. Sabin

A foul over the back-stop fence was out; a like penalty was attached to flies over the boundary walks.

And now, turning hand-springs and otherwise gamboling exultantly, the North Stars scattered to their respective positions.

Away out in center-field you prepared to guard your territory. You bent over, with your hands upon your knees, and ever and anon you spat fiercely, sometimes upon the ground and sometimes into your kid glove. This was the performance of the players upon the town’s nine, the Red Stockings and evidently greatly added to their efficiency.

TED WATSON

Besides, on the edge of the walk just back of you were sitting and swinging their slim legs two little girls, whom it was pleasant to impress.

Overhead the sun was blazing hot, but not to you; underfoot the dust from a long dry spell lay choking thick, but not to you; a “darning-needle” whizzed past, and you scarcely ducked, although he might be bent upon sewing up your ears. Your work was too stern to admit of your noticing sun, or dust, or mischievous dragon-fly. So you spat into your glove, replaced your hands on your knees, and waited. “Hello, Johnny!” piped one of the little girls; but you deigned not to make answer.

To right and to left were the Kemp boys, with their hands upon their knees; and before were the infielders, with their hands likewise upon their knees; that is, all except the pitcher.

SLIM HARDING