"Who is he?"
"Rick Todd, a Freshman."
"Son of Amos Todd, your San Francisco millionaire?"
"Yes."
"Then I don't want him. Millionaires' sons are no good."
"This one is, though," insisted Carncross; "and I ought to know, for I taught him to catch his first ball. You just come over to Soldiers' Field this afternoon and size him up."
The captain needed a first-class man behind the bat so badly that, in spite of his prejudices, he consented to do as his pitcher desired. He was amazed, delighted, and enthusiastic. Never had he seen such an exhibition of ball-catching as was given by that Freshman. Finally he could contain himself no longer, and rushing up to his classmate, he exclaimed:
"Carncross, I tell you he's a wonder! Introduce me at once."
"Rick Todd," said Dave Carncross, "permit me to present you to my friend Phil Ryder, captain of the 'varsity nine."
As the two lads grasped each other's hands, there came a flash of recognition into each face, and both remembered where they had met each other last.