OUR BASE BALL CLUB.

"YOUR FATHER, THE JUDGE, SAYS YOU SHOULD COME TO BREAKFAST RIGHT AWAY, MISS."—Frontispiece.

OUR BASE BALL CLUB

AND

HOW IT WON THE CHAMPIONSHIP

BY

NOAH BROOKS

Author of "The Fairport Nine," "The Boy Emigrants," etc.

WITH AN INTRODUCTION

BY

AL. G. SPALDING

OF THE CHICAGO BASE BALL CLUB

New York

E.P. DUTTON AND COMPANY

39 West 23d Street

1884

Copyright, 1884,

By E.P. DUTTON & CO.

St. Johnland
Stereotype Foundry,
Suffolk Co., N.Y.

Press of
J.J. Little & Co.
10 Astor Place, N.Y.

INTRODUCTION.

When we consider how strong a hold the pastime of base ball playing has upon our people, it is a little surprising that more frequent use of the game, as a framework, has not been made by writers of fiction. There are very few Americans, certainly very few of the younger generation, who are not only familiar with the nomenclature and rules of base ball, but are enthusiastic lovers of the sport. Even among the gentler sex, who may be regarded as spectators only of the game, there is to be found much sound information and an intelligent acquaintance with the details of base ball playing; while every hearty and wholesomely taught boy knows everything worth knowing about the game, the famous players, the historic contests, and the notable features of the sport, as practiced in various sections of the republic.

To write an introduction to a story whose slender plot should be threaded on a base ball match seems to be an almost superfluous work. But I am glad that Mr. Brooks has undertaken to illustrate "The National Game" by a story of outdoor life, founded on fact and incidentally introducing personages which are not wholly creatures of his imagination. The tale here told very cleverly gives the reader a glimpse of the ups and downs, the trials and the triumphs of a base ball club. It is written by one who is thoroughly well informed of the things concerning which he gives such vivid pictures, and, while nothing is really needed to popularize the game, I am sure the story will commend itself to every lover of pure and wholesome literature.

A.G. SPALDING.

CONTENTS.

OUR BASE BALL CLUB,

AND HOW IT WON THE CHAMPIONSHIP.

[CHAPTER I.]

GREAT EXPECTATIONS.

Alice Howell was flattening her pretty nose against the window pane as she looked ruefully out into the misty atmosphere that surrounded her father's house in North Catalpa. It was eight o'clock in the morning, and the great base ball match was set for two o'clock, that afternoon. As soon as she had risen, Alice had run to the window to see what were the signs of the sky, for Alice was an ardent lover of the American game, and her heart was set on the great match that was to come off on the Agricultural Grounds, near Catalpa, that day. The sky was dull and lowering, and there was little chance that the game would be called.

"Your father, the Judge, says you should come to breakfast right away, miss," said the little handmaid of the house.

Alice turned from the window with an impatient sigh, saying "Oh dear, Jessie, do you suppose the Jonesville Nine will come up to play the Catalpas, this afternoon?"

"'Deed I don't know, miss. I hope so, for Miss Anstress has promised me that I shall go over to see the game if it is played, and goodness only knows when I shall get off again to see a base ball match if I don't go to-day."

"But look at the weather! It's as dark as a pocket, and it looks as if it might rain at any moment. Oh dear! oh dear! it's too bad, so it is. And this is to be the last game of the season, and the decisive one, too." And so, more talking to herself than to the small servant who trotted behind her, with a sympathetic air, the pretty Miss Alice went to the breakfast-table where her father waited for her with an aspect of amused dignity.

"One cannot see across the river for the fog, papa," said the girl, with a disconsolate tone, as she seated herself. "The fences are dripping with moisture, and the dam roars just as it always does when there is a rain-storm coming up. How very provoking!"

"Well, and has my little girl forgotten that it was the day before yesterday that Farmer Boggs was in here from Sugar Grove and said that unless they had more rain before the frosts set in, it would be a hard year for winter wheat? And wasn't it my little girl who said that she wanted Stone River running full, this fall, in order that she might enjoy her new club skates when the ice came?"

"But, papa, the crops can wait a day or two for the fall rains, I am sure, and I should be willing to give up a whole winter's skating if the Catalpas would only beat the Jonesville Nine—the horrid fellows! And I am sure they would beat them, if they only played them to-day, for they are in capital form now."

"Hush! hush! my daughter," said Judge Howell, with a little shudder, "that is slang that you are using, and I shall have to curtail your base ball amusement if you are so ready to pick up the jargon of what they call, I believe, 'The Diamond Field,' for I do not want my daughter to mingle the slang of the game with her mother's mode of speech."

The Judge was somewhat prosy and not at all in love with the noble game which his daughter, in common with all of the girls of Catalpa, and of the whole Stone River country, for that matter, followed with so much enthusiasm.

The base ball club of Catalpa was made up of some of the finest young fellows in the town. Catalpa was situated on both sides of Stone River, in northern Illinois. It was a busy manufacturing and milling community, and from its homes had gone many a stalwart young chap to fight his country's battles in the southwest. The survivors of the company that went out and came back, decimated as to numbers and not all sound in body, founded the first base ball club of the region. The members of the club called themselves "The Catalpas," after their town. Most of the players lived on the north side of the river, and were soon dubbed "The North Catalpas" by their rivals who, living on the other side of the stream, and in the main portion of the town, and forming another club, arrogated to themselves the title of "Catalpa's Champions."

Gradually, the membership of the two organizations changed. The old soldiers retired in favor of their sons and nephews. The club on the south side of the river was reorganized and an entirely new set of young men came into it. The name of "The Dean County Nine," was given to the southside club, and, as it was largely composed of young men who worked in the flouring mills and the lumber-yards along the river front, it was famous for the brawn and muscle of its players.

The Catalpa Nine, on the other hand, was made up of students in the Seminary, young fellows in the law and county offices of the town, and sons of gentlemen of leisure. There was a chasm as wide as Stone River fixed between the Dean County Nine and the Catalpa Nine, so far as social relations were concerned. The Dean County players called the Catalpas "Aristocrats" and the Catalpas retorted with the epithet of "Stalwarts" applied to their town rivals. When it is added that the finest residences were built on the north side of the river dividing the town, and that the men of more moderate means dwelt on the business side of the stream, the reason for the imaginary line of separation betwixt the two ball clubs will be more apparent.

After repeated and not always friendly matches between the rival clubs, they were drawn together by the appearance of a common enemy. From the little town of Jonesville, situated eighteen miles down the river, came the Jonesvillians, as they called themselves, a powerful and well-trained nine. They had challenged and vanquished the nine of Dry Plains, the Blue Falls Nine, and their own Home Club, commonly known through the Stone River region as "The Jonesville Scrubs." Flushed with victory, the Jonesvillians had challenged and played two games with the Catalpas, contesting the championship of northern Illinois. It must be admitted that the record of neither of the two Catalpa clubs was one of which the people of the town had any right to be proud. Both clubs, while closely contesting with each other, had been repeatedly beaten by visitors from the surrounding region. Naturally the sympathies of the "Stalwarts" was with the "Aristocrats" when an out-of-town club came to try conclusions. Every true son and daughter of the town of Catalpa was hotly enlisted for the home nine in any contest that might be fought out for the championship. It was aggravating that the Jonesville Nine, most of whom were rough and loud-talking fellows, should conquer the whole country, from the Wisconsin line to Lasalle, and from Chicago to the Mississippi River.

That was the reason why Miss Alice Howell, the only daughter and the spoiled child of the eminent and widowed district Judge, should be downcast and fidgety when she looked out and saw, on this fateful morning, that the weather gave signs of being unfit for the decisive game for the championship. The Jonesville Nine had won the first game. The Catalpas were victors in the second game. To-day, if all went well, would give the championship to the Catalpas. The Catalpas had regularly "whitewashed" the Dean County Nine, in spite of their stalwart strength. But they had failed to hold their own against many another club from other portions of the country roundabout. In the first game for the championship, the Catalpas had beaten the Jonesvillians by a score of 24 to 13—an overwhelming defeat for the down-river club. But the Jonesville men had carried off the second game with a score of 14 to 13, which was a close game, and was lost by the Catalpas, as their friends all said, by the Catalpas being in bad condition. Albert Heaton, the catcher, was afflicted with blistered hands and could do very little effective work behind the bat; and George Buckner, center fielder, had been obliged to leave the field just before game was called, on account of a sudden sickness in his own home; and this necessitated sundry changes that demoralized the Nine, and disarranged their plans.

"And after all," said Alice, exultingly, as she recounted these facts to her father, on the morning of the fateful day, "after all, the Jonesvillians only beat by one run. To-day, the Catalpas are in splendid form—condition, I mean, and if it only would clear off, I am sure they will send the Jonesville fellows down the river with what Ben Burton calls 'a basket of goose eggs,'—I beg pardon, papa, for this bit of slang; but you will observe that it is a quotation."

"Yes, from a favorite author," said the Judge, rising from the breakfast table, with a shrewd smile.

Alice flushed, a little angrily, perhaps, for she did not like Burton, although he was her cousin and was said to be a suitor for her favor.

[CHAPTER II.]

"A SCRUB GAME."

Notwithstanding the gloom of the morning, the day came off bright and fine, and by the time the train was due from the West, bringing the Jonesville boys, the weather was perfect. A serene October sky bent over Catalpa, and the bright river flowed rippling toward the Mississippi, its banks red and yellow with autumnal foliage. Crossing the bridge from North Catalpa and from the farming settlements to the north were strings of buggies, lumber-wagons and other vehicles; and not a few sight-seers jogged along on horseback, all with their faces set toward the Agricultural Fair Grounds, just above the town and lying to the southward. Catalpa is built on a slope that descends from the rolling prairie to the bank of Stone River. Once out of the town, one reaches a lovely stretch of undulating ground skirted by a dead level plain, admirably adapted for a base ball field. The original use of the Fair Grounds had almost been forgotten when the ball clubs of Catalpa began to practice within the enclosure. The Northern District fair had gone farther North, and the grounds were left to chance comers—a travelling circus, or an occasional amateur racing match.

To-day, the blue and white flag of the Catalpas floated proudly from what had once been the Judges' stand, while the pale green colors of the Jonesvillians hung lazily from a staff driven into the ground to the westward of the track. For more than an hour before the time set for the calling of the game, a steady stream of people poured into the enclosure. The battered and rickety seats had been patched up to bear the weight of those who were willing to pay the small fee exacted for the privilege; but the mass of the spectators were grouped together in the open spaces to the westward and southward of these, and farther around the ring was a thin line of vehicles of various descriptions. Men and women on horseback, young girls crowded into wagon-boxes, and boys ramping around on scrubby mustangs, filled up the background.

It was a pretty sight. And while the crowd waited for the hour to arrive, much scientific base ball gossip drifted about the enclosure. Village lads who had worked hard or had teased with uncommon assiduity to secure the "two bits" needed to gain admission to the grounds, chaffed each other vociferously and exchanged learned comments on the playing and the qualities of the combatants.

"Oh you should have seen John Brubaker play right field that day when the Catalpas sent the Jonesvillers home with a big headache," said one of these small critics, as he viewed with admiration Brubaker's stalwart form reclining at ease in the shade of the judges' stand. "Why he just everlastingly got away with the ball every time one of the Jonesvillers gave him one. Then there was Lew Morris, there's no player in the Jonesvillers, 'cept it is Larry Boyne, that can catch a ball like Lew, and why the Catalpas keep him in the left field, I don't know."

"Oh you talk too much with your mouth, you, Bill, you," cried a bigger base ball connoisseur. "What do you know about the game? Why, I saw the Jonesvillians, three years ago, when they first played the old Catalpas, I mean the soldier boys. That was playing, now I tell you. Hurrah! There comes the Nine!"

Pretty Alice Howell, sitting in her father's carriage and accompanied by the Judge and her severe-looking aunt, Miss Anstress, clapped her hands at the sight, for the two Nines drew near to each other and the game was called. The dignified Judge smiled at the girl's enthusiasm, but, as he looked around, he saw that multitudes of other young ladies, as well as ladies no longer young—mothers and aged spinsters, watched the preliminaries of the game with absorbing interest.

The Jonesville Nine were not so well developed, physically, as the Catalpas. They were mostly farmer's sons, born and bred on the low prairies to the westward of Stone River. It is a region long famous for its prevailing fever-and-ague epidemic. The sallow faces of some of the Jonesville players suggested quinine and "cholagogue," just then a favorite specific among the ague-smitten population of Northern Illinois. Nor were the members of the visiting Nine as uniform in size and appearance as the Catalpas. The breadth of chest and vigorous outline of the home nine were not repeated in the forms of the Jonesville boys.

"PRETTY ALICE HOWELL, SITTING IN HER FATHER'S CARRIAGE, AND ACCOMPANIED BY THE JUDGE AND HER SEVERE LOOKING AUNT, MISS ANSTRESS, CLAPPED HER HANDS AT THE SIGHT."—Page 18.

The Catalpas were well chosen with an eye to symmetry and uniformity. They were all brawny and athletic young fellows. As they were mostly men of leisure, they had had plenty of time to practice, and they were apparently ready to give good account of themselves. Chiefly on Al Heaton, the stalwart catcher, did the eyes of the multitude rest with favor. He was a tall, shapely young fellow, with a ruddy and oval face, bright brown eyes, a keen glance, and a sinewy length of limb that gave him pre-eminence in the field.

The batting game of the Catalpas was better than that of the Jonesvillians, as all previous encounters had shown. But the fielding of the Jonesville boys was far better than that of any other nine with whom they had measured their strength and skill. And Larry Boyne, a fresh-faced and laughing young man from Sugar Grove, but a member of the Jonesville Nine, was the champion catcher of the whole region. So long as the Jonesville Nine held on to Larry, they felt sure of victory. Larry Boyne was a trifle shorter than the average of his comrades. His round and well-poised head was covered with a shock of curly flaxen hair, and his sturdy legs, muscular arms and ample chest gave token of a large stock of reserved power. "That's the best looking Jonesvillian of them all" was the secret thought of many an observant girl and the open criticism of many a loud-talking spectator.

This is the manner of placing the two Clubs:—

Catalpas.
Lewis Morris, L.F.
Charlie King, P.
Hart Stirling, 2d B.
Will Sprague, 3d B.
John Brubaker, R.F.
Hiram Porter, 1st B.
George Buckner, C.F.
Albert Heaton, C.
Ben Burton, S.S.
Jonesvilles.
Studley, 2d B.
Larry Boyne, C.
Morrison, 1st B.
Ellis, P.
Wheeler, C.F.
Martin, L.F.
Simpson, 3d B.
Berthelet, R.F.
Alexander, S.S.

The Catalpas won the toss and went to the field, with due consideration for the improvement of their chances in the final innings, and the game began with a comfortable feeling pervading the champions of the home nine. The winning of the toss was a good omen, everybody thought.

A buzz of half-suppressed excitement swept over the field as Studley, of the Jonesville Nine, went first to the bat. He sent a low ball to second base which Hart Stirling failed to hold, and Studley got to first base. Larry Boyne followed and sent up a sky-high ball, and Studley, having stolen to second and third base, got safely home, while Larry reached second base. Morrison sent a good right fielder, on which he got half-way around, while Larry, with a rush, made the home run, adding one more to the score of the Jonesvilles. Alice bit her lip with vexation, but some of the more magnanimous of the townspeople commented, under their breath, "Good for the red-cheeked Irishman!"

Great things were expected of Ellis, the champion pitcher of the Jonesvillians, who went next to the bat, and who was reckoned as nearly as good with the bat as with the ball; but he made a poor strike, and, with a long-drawn "Oh-h-h!" from the sympathetic friends of the home club, the ball dropped near the home base and the young champion of Jonesville went out on his first. Next, Morrison, in his haste to get to third base, was put out by Will Sprague, and the fortunes of the visitors visibly waned. Wheeler, who went next to the bat, provoked a murmur of approbation from the spectators, who were now warming up to the game, and who admired the handsome proportions and springy movements of the center fielder of the Jonesvillers. He sent a resounding ball safely to the right field, got to first base, but, overrunning the second base, was neatly put out by Hart Stirling, the second base man of the Catalpas. Thus closed the innings—two runs for the visiting Nine.

"Not much to brag of," remarked Bill Van Orman, the big pitcher of the Dean County Nine. "Not much to brag of, and I don't think that the Jonesvillians are feeling first rate over this. Let them wait until Al Heaton and Charlie King get after them. Then they'll sing small, I allow."

"Hush up, you, there goes Lew Morris to the bat for the Catalpas. He'll show them something. Look at that chist of his! Golly! don't I remember him, though!" remarked Hank Mitchell.

Lew Morris, tall, handsome and sinewy, deserved the praises lavished upon him, as he stood, modestly but confidently, to open the innings for the Catalpas. But, to the great disappointment of his admirers, he failed to make a hit and was sent to first base on three called balls. Charlie King justified the expectations of his friends by striking a tremendous ball to right field, on which Lew Morris tallied one, but in trying to get to second base, was put out by Studley in excellent style. Hart Stirling followed, making the first quarter, and Will Sprague went to second base on a strong hit to right field, which brought Stirling home. John Brubaker next went to the bat, with an air of serene confidence, but he failed to satisfy the expectations of the on-lookers, and went out on a foul tip.

"Your champions do not seem to be in good condition, to-day, Alice," said the Judge, demurely. "I am just beginning to become interested in the game, and I must say that I shouldn't like to see the Catalpas beaten."

"Thank you, papa," said Alice, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "I thought you would get waked up if you once saw the play and realized how much depends on the game to-day."

"It's the championship of the Northern District, is it not, my child?"

"Yes, and if the Catalpas don't win now, I am afraid—well, I don't know what I am afraid of. But they will be dreadfully discouraged."

"So shall I be," said the Judge, gravely turning his eyes to the stand, where Hiram Porter, the first base man of the home nine, and an honor man in his class at Ann Arbor, had taken up the bat. Hiram retrieved the failing fortunes of the Catalpas by a powerful ball to center field on which he reached the first base. George Buckner, who followed, sent a high ball which was beautifully caught by Studley, on second base, amidst murmurs of applause, as if the townsmen and townswomen of the Catalpas were half-ashamed to give full expression to their extorted admiration of the visitors' good play.

"That was well done, anyway," remarked Hank Mitchell, "and that winds up the first inning with three outs and three runs to two for the Jonesvillians. Come, you must wake up, Catalpas, or we shall get licked again."

"Wait until the Catalpas come in on the last innings, and then you'll see some fun. They are laying low for black ducks, and don't you forget that. We've tried them too many times, Hank, and you know it." This was Van Orman's shrewd comment, as the second inning began with Martin, the Jonesville left fielder, at the bat. He should not have made the first base "by rights" as the observant Hank remarked, under his breath, but Charlie King and Hiram Porter fumbled the ball, and he got safely to first. Simpson struck the ball straight into the pitcher's hands and went out ignominiously. Then Berthelet went out on three strikes, and the spirits of the sympathetic spectators rose perceptibly. Two out and no runs for the visitors.

"Things are looking dark for your friends from Jonesville," said the Judge. "And, by the way, isn't there danger of their getting what you call 'a goose-egg' in this game, Alice?"

"O yes, papa," she answered, "I shouldn't wonder the least bit if they should be whitewashed in this inning, but there are so many chances against it that I wouldn't like to boast too much beforehand. Those Jonesville boys are awful sly!"

"That's Sam Alexander at the bat now, trying in vain to strike the ball." And, as Alice spoke, Alexander walked to first base on called balls, and Martin cleverly made his home run, scoring one for the Jonesvillians. "So they will not be whitewashed, at all events," said Alice, with a little sigh.

Studley now made his second base by a ground ball to third base which Will Sprague failed to stop, and by which also Alexander came home. Larry Boyne, smiling, but keenly alive to the critical condition of affairs, now went to the bat, made a magnificent ball to center field and went to first base whither he was quickly followed by Morrison, and Studley scored another run for the Jonesville Nine. Next, amidst great excitement, for the play was now waxing hot, Ellis struck a splendid right fielder, by which Larry and Morrison easily reached the home plate and Studley got to second base. The spectators trembled with excitement as Wheeler made a capital safe hit to center field, Studley got in, Wheeler reached the second base, stole to third, and, by the wild throwing of the Catalpas, got home on a passed ball.

Next, Martin got to first base on a slow ball to right field, and then home on passed balls. He was followed by Simpson, after two strikes, on which he got to first base and came dangerously near being put out by Hart Stirling, who made a fine one-handed catch amidst the ringing applause of the spectators, Alice Howell's small handmaid exciting much mirth by her shrill exclamation of "isn't he grand!" when Hart, with a tremendous leap, secured the ball as it was flying far above his head.

Berthelet then went out on a foul tip leaving Simpson on the base and closing the innings for the Jonesvillians. Al Heaton having gone to the bat for the Catalpas, made his first base on called balls, and when Ben Burton, who succeeded him at the bat, made a good hit, he reached third base. Burton then got to second base, and Al Heaton reached the home plate, while Larry Boyne was attempting to throw Burton out at second base. Lew Morris next got to first base through the muffing of Studley, but was forced out by Charlie King, who sharply followed him to the first. Will Sprague sent the ball well up into the sky, but Berthelet, the agile and keen-eyed young Frenchman in the right field, caught it handsomely, and Will retired in good order. John Brubaker went to first base, and then Ellis, the Jonesville pitcher, made a muff with his ball, giving the Catalpas one tally. Hiram Porter followed with a safe hit, but George Buckner went out on a foul ball and the inning closed with a score of ten for the Jonesville boys and eight for the Catalpas.

The Jonesvilles opened the third inning by sending Alexander to the bat. He was sent to first base on called balls, and was followed by Studley, who sent a ball to Ben Burton at short stop, but which Ben muffed, and Studley got safely to first base. Larry Boyne followed with a winged ball which he sent flying to the right field and which enabled him to reach second base and brought Alexander and Studley home. Morrison sent an air ball to left field, by which he reached first base, and Larry came home. Then Ellis hit a ground ball to Ben Burton at short stop, which Ben muffed again, allowing Larry to come home and Ellis to get to first base. Wheeler made first base on a ground ball to left field, and Martin sent a slow ball to center field which reached the first base before him. During the passage of the ball, however, Morrison came home, and Ellis subsequently tallied on a passed ball. Simpson went to the bat and was struck out, and Berthelet, who followed, was neatly caught out on a foul fly by Ben Burton, who thus partially retrieved his reputation and the inning was closed for the Jonesvilles.

The showing for the Catalpas was now pretty dark, and it did not improve during their next inning. Al Heaton, who led for the home nine, was put out in attempting to steal from first to second base, and Ben Burton, who followed him, met with a similar disaster. Lew Morris went to first base on a ball to short stop which Alexander overthrew to first base. Next, Charlie King hit an air ball which was caught by Alexander at short stop, leaving three out with Morris dead on the second base. The score then stood, Jonesvilles, 15; Catalpas, 8.

"A whitewash!" cried Hank Mitchell, uncertain whether he ought to exult as an old adversary of the home club, or be downcast as a citizen of the town of Catalpa. But, his patriotism rallying in time, he cried to Andrew Jackson Simis, a Jonesville spectator, "I s'pose you think your boys are going to get away with us, this time? Just you wait till the last innings, and then you will see them come up with a rush."

"They'd better begin to rush pretty quick, then," was the sneering answer. "I guess your goose is cooked." There was a stir among the Dean County Nine, who, with their friends, sat together at the end of the range of seats, when this unfriendly remark was flung out. There were threatening glances and clenched fists in the group of Catalpa boys.

"Here! here! no squabbling!" cried Deputy Sheriff Wheeler, hurrying up, as his vigilant eye fell on the angry-looking knot of lads. "These men are visitors; can't you behave yourselves?"

But the Catalpas were in nowise cast down. Lew Morris, their captain, went among the boys and impressed on them something of his own cheerful courage and roused them to the importance of making a tremendous effort in the next inning. Perhaps the Jonesvillians were unduly elated. Their first man at the bat, Alexander, was put out by sending the ball almost directly into the hands of Hiram Porter at first base. Then Studley sent a good ball to center field, on which he went to first base, and went to second while Larry Boyne was batting. Larry tipped a foul fly which Al Heaton caught, and Morrison, who succeeded him, was caught out in a precisely similar manner, and the inning closed with Studley left on the second base and a "whitewash" for the visitors.

There was great uproar in the crowd around the field, as soon as the Catalpas went in their turn to the bat. The townsfolk forgot all decorum in their delight over the semblance of victory thus snatched from defeat. They cheered the Catalpas as they came in from the field, and by their noise, at least, showed that no impartial judgment could be expected from the majority of the spectators. Judge Howell critically looked over the crowd and remarked to Alice that he thought it was bad mannered in the townspeople to exult over the defeat or reverses of their visitors.

"But it is because they know that the Catalpas are going to be beaten, after all," said Alice, with a tone of great despondency.

"Going to be beaten?" asked the Judge, with surprise. "Why, haven't they just given the Jonesvilles a whitewash, as I think you call it, and the score is 15 to 8, with your favorites going to the bat?"

"Yes, papa, that is so; but you see that the Jonesvillians play a much better fielding game than the Catalpas, and I am sure that our club will never be able to regain what they have lost."

Miss Alice soon began to think that she had lost hope too soon, for the Catalpas scored three runs in their inning, Hart Stirling having made a home run on a tremendous ball sent to left field where it was muffed shamefully, first by Martin and then by Simpson. Will Sprague and John Brubaker followed him successfully, and Hiram Porter, who had made his first base, was put out by Morrison. The same fate overtook George Buckner and Al Heaton, who were put out by the active and vigilant first base man of the Jonesvilles. Nevertheless, the inning closed with a decided gain for the home nine, the score being 15 for the Jonesvilles, 11 for the Catalpas.

There was intense but suppressed excitement all around the field, as the visitors sent Ellis to the bat, and he was at once caught out by Hart Stirling on a fly sent to second base. Wheeler made first base, and Martin, who followed him, was put out on first base, while Wheeler came home on a ball balked by Charlie King. Simpson was put out on first base, and the Catalpas took their inning, sending Ben Burton to the bat. He was caught out by Studley; then Lew Morris was put out at first base by a ball sent by Alexander to Morrison; next Charlie King went out on called balls, and, amidst cries of "another whitewash!" the inning closed with a score of 16 to 11, in favor of the visitors.

In the sixth inning, the Jonesvilles added eight to their score, and the Catalpas gained seven, thus making the home nine a little more hopeful, although the relative distance of the two nines was not changed. The feature of this inning was a grand hit to the center field made by Larry Boyne, on which he made first base and brought home Alexander and Studley, who were on the second and third bases, respectively. The score stood thus: Jonesvilles, 24, Catalpas, 18. And there was no exultation in the ranks of the townsfolk.

Larry Boyne went to the bat in the next inning, for the visiting Nine. He sent a magnificent air ball so high that it seemed lost in the misty blue of the October sky. But it descended straight into the hands of John Brubaker in the right field, and a chorus of "ah-h-h's" went up from the assembled multitude. Morrison was caught out on a foul fly; Ellis shared his fate, and Wheeler was put out on first base. Great was the exultation among the citizens of Catalpa. The Jonesvillers had been again whitewashed. The short October day was wearing on apace, but the chances of the Catalpas were improving as the light went down in the west.

The home nine added three to their score in the inning, home runs being made by John Brubaker, Hiram Porter, and George Buckner. Al Heaton and Ben Burton were both put out by foul flies. Charlie King was put out on first base, leaving Lew Morris on third base. But as the score stood 24 for the Jonesvilles and 21 for the home nine, the spirits of the majority of the spectators, whose sympathies were all one way, began to rise. Perhaps the Jonesvillers would be sent home without the championship.

But these hopes were dashed by the next inning, which was the eighth, the Jonesvilles having gained one run, while the Catalpas were ignominiously "whitewashed." The visitors showed their good qualities in the field by a fine double play in their inning. Hart Stirling being on the first base, Will Sprague hit short to Ellis, who sent the ball to Studley at second base, cutting off Stirling; and John Brubaker, in attempting to steal from first to second base, was run out by Studley and Morrison.

Nobody stirred from the field, although the day was dying slowly and the simple habits of the Catalpa women called them home to their household duties. The decisive inning was near at hand, and as Alice stood up in her father's carriage, in order to get a better view of the game, the hitherto orderly crowd closed in around the players. Spectators and players drew a long breath as Larry Boyne went to the bat for the Jonesvilles. He wielded the bat with great skill and dexterity; but Charlie King's pitching was wonderfully clever, and Larry went out on a foul tip to Al Heaton, catcher. Morrison made third base on a safe hit; Ellis made first base and Morrison came home on a ball muffed by Charlie King, and then Martin, on a center field ball hit, brought Ellis and Wheeler home. Simpson now made first base on a hit to the right field, and an overthrow brought Martin home and gave second base to Simpson. Berthelet was caught out on a foul fly by Al Heaton, and Simpson, in attempting to steal home, was run out by Al Heaton and Will Sprague.

"Three out on the last inning!" roared two or three of the Dean County Nine, great hulking fellows, who stood near the carriage of the Judge. Alice looked at them reproachfully, although her cheeks were ruddy with half-suppressed excitement.

"It's real mean of them, isn't it, papa?" she said. "They will not seem to consider that we should be very angry if we were treated thus in Jonesville."

Now went Hiram Porter, big and handsome Hiram, to the bat for the Catalpas. Hiram looked as tall as a giant in the gathering twilight, and he stood up in manly fashion. But Hiram was put out on first base by a ball sent by Studley to Morrison, and George Buckner, who followed him, had great ado to save himself. But he made first base, and Al Heaton next sent a singing ball to center field, on which he went to second base and Buckner to third. Ben Burton then undertook to bat Buckner home, but he was, himself, put out on first base. Lew Morris then took the bat, sent a high ball to center field and secured the first base. Charlie King followed to the first, and amidst despondent cries of "Three out!" the game and the inning ended with a score of 29 for the Jonesville Nine and 23 for the Catalpas.

Deputy Sheriff Wheeler, forgetting for the time his official dignity, stood up in what was once the judges' stand and shouted, "Three cheers for the champions of Northern Illinois! Now, then! Hip! Hip! Hip!"

The cheers were given with a pretty good will, considering how great was the disappointment of the townspeople. The captain of the Catalpas set a laudable and manly example to his comrades by going straight to Larry Boyne, the captain of the Jonesville Nine, and, grasping him warmly by the hand, congratulating him on the victory so honorably and handsomely won.

"Of course you can't expect that a fellow can say that he is glad to have lost the day; but you have worked hard for the pennant, and it belongs to you without any grumbling."

Larry, with his ruddy face still ruddier than before, responded in frank fashion and then the crowd began to melt away, for the darkness was coming on. Passing by the Judge's carriage, yet entangled in the throng of vehicles, Larry glanced up at the pretty girl whom he had noticed with distant admiration. The Judge intercepted his glance, and leaning over with what was meant to be a gracious smile, said, "This is Larry Boyne, the famous catcher of the down-river nine? Well, I congratulate you, young man, on your well-won victory and on your own beautiful playing."

Larry very much taken aback by this unexpected condescension from the great man of Catalpa, touched his cap, blushed and stammered and gladly rejoined his comrades.

"Fine young man, that," said the Judge, sententiously, as his carriage slowly drew out of the crowd and moved toward the gate.

"If a few such players as he were in the place of some of the muffs in the Catalpa Nine," said Alice, "I think that the championship of the whole State would belong in this town."

"Why I do believe my little daughter is crying!" cried the Judge.

"I am not crying," said Alice stoutly. "But I confess that I am mad enough to cry. Are we always going to be beaten by every scrubby nine that comes here, I'd like to know?"

Dr. Selby, the staid and dignified village town apothecary, who was walking by the carriage, heard the indignant outburst, and looking up, said with a smile, "We've got the timber here for a first-class nine, Miss Alice, but the thing is to get the timber together."

Judge Howell, with his grandest manner, said, "If there is any movement to retrieve the honor of Catalpa in the base ball field, please count on my assistance and support."

[CHAPTER III.]

AFTER THE BATTLE.

To say that the town of Catalpa was very deeply mortified by this latest and most signal defeat of the favorite Nine would be a mild way of putting the case. For weeks afterwards, nothing was talked of in the place but the disgraceful overthrow of the Catalpa Nine. Very soon, so high did the debate run, there were two sides formed among the townspeople, one party blaming the Catalpas for their lack of training and practice, and the other excusing them for their evident inability to cope with the sturdy farmer boys from "down the river."

"I tell you it is not mere brute muscle that our fellows want," said Squire Mead, one of the great lights of the town, "it's not brawn, but skill, that they must acquire before they can stand up against the base ball players of this part of the country. Let them pay more attention to work, and less to frills, and they will come out all right."

But Dr. Selby, whose son was one of the rising players in the less aristocratic Dean County Nine, would have none of this sort of argument. Tom Selby was not only a wiry and agile player in the field, but he was the best oarsman on the river, and he could lift a barrel of flour, properly slung, "without turning a hair." He had done it often. His father believed in muscle.

"Now there's Bill Van Orman, the Dean County Nine's catcher," Dr. Selby would say, "who is like an ox in appearance, and I really believe could stave in the panel of that door with one blow of his fist, but who gets about the bases as spry as a cat, and who has got down the curve to such a fine point that nobody can pitch like him in half a dozen counties. Sam Ellis, the champion pitcher of the Jonesvilles, cannot hold a candle to Van's pitching. And do you pretend to tell me that any light-waisted young fellow, like Will Sprague, for instance, could ever, by all the training in the world, make such a catcher or such a pitcher as Bill?"

It was the old question over again—skill against muscle. But Judge Howell, whose opinions on all subjects whatever commanded respect, probably gave voice to the average public judgment when he said, "What we want, gentlemen, is muscle and training. I am confident that in this good town of Catalpa there are more than nine young men who can give time to the practice necessary for the purpose, and who are endowed by nature with the requisite powers for the development of first-rate base ball players."

"Good for you, Jedge!" It was Tony May, an aged and disreputable loafer in the store where this debate was taking place, who spoke. Tony was usually called "Rough and Ready" because of his frequent use of that phrase as applied to himself. Having applauded the Judge's remark, he drew back, a little confusedly, and murmured "'Scuse me, Jedge, I didn't mean to be interruptious, but you know I'm rough and ready, rough and ready, Jedge, and that 'ere remark of yourn does seem to be about the fust sensible thing I've hearn in this 'ere jag of words. 'Scuse me, Jedge, fer sayin' so; you know I'm rough and I'm ready." And the speaker subsided into a corner pulling his 'coonskin cap down over his shaggy brows.

Judge Howell, with an additional stiffness perceptible in his manner, waved his hand towards the dry goods boxes in the angles of which "Rough and Ready" had dropped and said, "Our friend here is enthusiastic. He has a right to be. His son Fremont has certainly distinguished himself, before now, as the right fielder of the Dean County Nine. But does anybody know if that handsome young Irish lad, Larry Boyne, could be drawn from the Jonesville Nine, in case we should desire to reinforce our home nine by drafts on foreign material, so to speak?"

Nobody knew; but Jason Elderkin, the storekeeper, leaned over his counter, pausing in his occupation of measuring off a yard of Kentucky jean, and said:

"I tell you what it is, Judge, that's the likeliest young fellow in these parts. He lives with his mother over to Sugar Grove, and started in to read law with 'Squire Welby, over to Dean Center; but he had to give it up on account of his father's being killed by being crushed under a tree that he was felling. Awful blow to the boy, likewise to his ma. The Jonesvilles pay him something for playing with them; so I've hearn tell."

"WHAT WE WANT, GENTLEMEN, IS MUSCLE AND TRAINING."—Page 37.

This suggestion created a momentary stir in the congress, for the gathering had by this time assumed such a character. Two or three of the speakers did not see how anybody could think of making a professional club out of an amateur, such as the Jonesville Nine pretended to be. If Larry Boyne was paid a salary, why were not others? And if salaries were paid to the men, it was a professional club, wasn't it?

"I don't know enough about what we may call the etiquette of the game to decide what is an amateur and what a professional club," remarked Judge Howell, in slow and dignified accents. "But if we are in earnest in this proposition to organize a really creditable base ball club in Catalpa, and I take it that we are,"—and here he glanced at "Rough and Ready," who had slid forward into sight again,—"and I take it that we are, I say, we may as well make up our minds to put our hands into our pockets and help the boys a little, otherwise we shall go down again."

"Right as a trivet, Jedge," cried Rough and Ready. "Right as a trivet; for unless we take hold all together, we shell go down to where flour is nine dollars a bar'l and no money to buy it at that; 'scuse me, gen'lemen, but I'm rough and ready, you know. I allow that the Jedge here speaks the senterments of the community." And the old man retreated into the depths of his 'coonskin cap.

The oracle of the grocery store was right in saying that Judge Howell spoke the sentiments of the community in regard to the necessity of taking hold in earnest and organizing a base ball club, if anything serious was to be accomplished. The project took definite shape at once.

"Why," said Weeks, the bridge-tender, who, from his position, came into contact with half of the townspeople, nearly every day, as they crossed and recrossed the river. "Why, every town north of Bloomington, as far as I know, has got a champion base ball nine, and why should Catalpa be behind the rest? That's what I want to know. And if we are to have champions, we have got to take hold and help the boys, like they do in other towns. And the very first thing I want to see done is the licking of them Jonesvilles. They are so everlastingly set up by their carrying off the pennant that they are ready to challenge all creation. So I'm told."

Around many an evening fire and in many a lounging-place in the town, the question was animatedly discussed, as autumn waned into winter, and most outdoor sports became a little unseasonable. It was decided, in that informal and irregular way with which a western community settles its internal affairs, that there must be in Catalpa a first-rate base ball nine, and that it must be organized before the spring opened.

[CHAPTER IV.]

REORGANIZATION BEGINS.

"Where now, Larry?" asked 'Squire Mead, meeting Larry Boyne, on Stone River bridge, one wintry day in November. Cold weather had set in early, and huge cakes of ice had already formed on the edge of the dam, and a light fall of snow gave promise of sleighing for Thanksgiving week, then not far off. Larry was mounted on a sorry-looking nag, borrowed from a Sugar Grove neighbor, and he carried behind him a big bundle of knitted mittens, the handiwork of his mother and sisters, to be exchanged for goods at one of the stores in town.

"Oh, I'm just going to town to trade a bit, and I have a message from Al Heaton that he and his father want to see me about joining a new base ball club to be gotten up here. Know anything about it, 'Squire?"

"Well, yes," replied the 'Squire, "I'm told that there is something of a stir in town about the matter." The crafty old lawyer did not say how much the stir was indebted to him for its existence. "Quite a stir, Larry, and they do say that they will get up a new nine; even if they have to hire players to go into it."

Larry's cheeks flushed even deeper red as he replied, "There is no disgrace in hiring players to help out, I suppose, 'Squire? I was paid a share of the gate money while I was with the Jonesville Nine, and they have offered me a regular salary if I go with them next season. But I wouldn't touch a penny of it if I thought it was the least bit off-color for a fellow to take pay for his services."

"No, no," said the 'Squire, warmly, "there is nothing in that that an honorable and high-toned young fellow like you are could object to; and if I were you, I would make the very best terms I could for next year. You have been obliged to give up studying law, I hear, on account of the death of your father. If you do well in the ball-field, next summer, you might save up enough to set you right next year, so far as studying is concerned. And, between you and me and the gate-post, Al Heaton and his father are bound to have you in the new nine. So make as good a bargain for yourself as you can. Al can't play next season."

"Why, what is the matter with Al? Why can't he play any more?"

"It's mighty cold standing here talking on the bridge, Larry, and I don't know that I have any right to give Al's reasons, but I have a notion that his mother objects to his going around the country playing base ball. She's got high and mighty airs since her Uncle George was elected to Congress from the Sangamon District, and I reckon that that is what is the matter with Al's base ball business. Pity 'tis, too, for Al is a first-rate catcher. Nobody like him, unless it is Larry Boyne," he added with a kindly smile.

Larry thanked the 'Squire, and, with a hearty "good-bye," went thoughtfully on his way across the bridge. As his steed climbed Bridge Street, Larry was conscious that he had several new ideas in his head. And when, his little errands done, he found his way to Mr. Heaton's counting-room in the mills near the dam, he had made up his mind that Jonesville had no claim on him and that he belonged no more to Jonesville than he did to Catalpa. In other words, he was in the market for employment. The mortgage on the farm must be paid off; his sisters and the little brother must be kept at school, and he had his own way to make in the world. To take one season's compensation as a base ball player would help matters at home very much. It was a gleam of hope in an otherwise gloomy outlook for the young man.

"Glad to see you, Larry," said Mr. Heaton, heartily. "Al's been waiting for you this some time, and we may as well go right to business. The boys are talking of getting up a first-class nine, and as my son cannot very well go into it, next year, he has coaxed me to turn in and help the others. And so I will, for I want to see old Catalpa come out ahead at the end of the season."

Young Heaton, with evident regret, told Larry that he would be unable to play in the Catalpa nine, but that it was his dearest wish that the club should be the champion club of the state. "So," said he, "with my father's consent, I have agreed to give my monthly allowance for the benefit of the club, and that will help make up a pool to pay expenses. We can't get good players (I mean players to compete with Chicago and Springfield, and other large cities), without paying them something—gate-money anyhow, and perhaps more."

Larry said not a word. It was yet a new proposition, this of earning money as a professional ball player. Somehow it did not strike him pleasantly. But he listened respectfully while Mr. Heaton unfolded the plans that had been slowly matured since the signal defeat of the Catalpas, last October. They must organize a new nine. Some of the old players must be dropped, and two, Al and Lewis Morris, had already declined to play any longer. New men must be found to take their places. Would Larry join the new nine? Did he recommend any other players in the vicinity?

Larry's ruddy face glowed as he walked up and down the little counting-room, thinking over the situation. Mr. Heaton watched the young man's well-knit and graceful figure with admiration, and winked at Albert, as if to say, "That is your man. Get him if you can."

"I'll consider any offer that you make in behalf of the new nine, Mr. Heaton," said Larry, "and if I were to suggest any other players from the Jonesvilles, I should like to say a good word for Sam Morrison and Neddie Ellis. Morrison is our first base man, and Neddie is as good a pitcher as there is in the country, unless it is Charlie King. I hope your men don't think of letting out Charlie?"

"Oh, no," replied young Heaton, "they want him to stay, and he says that he'll not only stay but will give in his share of the gate-money for the use of the club. Oh, Charlie's clear grit, he is, and he'll stand by the club," said the young man, with friendly warmth, dashed with a little regret, perhaps, that family complications forbade him a similar sacrifice.

The details of the bargain could not be settled at once. Mr. Heaton and his son were the representatives of a company of public-spirited citizens who were bent on getting up a good base ball club. They could only secure Larry's promise to wait for terms from them before accepting any other engagement, and to give them some hint as to what compensation he should expect. This last, however, Larry resolutely declined to do; and, after some debate, young Heaton exclaimed, "Well, hang it all, Larry! What's the use beating round the bush! I think our folks have made up their minds that they will give you a share of the gate-money, say one eighth, and a salary of a thousand dollars for the season. Does that strike you favorably?"

Larry's eyes shone as he said, "It strikes me as being more than I am worth."

"Well, this is all informal and entirely between us, you know," said Mr. Heaton. "You will keep the matter to yourself until we have reported to the rest of the committee, for there is a committee," he added with a smile. And so the matter was concluded, and Larry, mounting his horse, with a cheery salutation to father and son standing in the mill-door, rode across the bridge into the November twilight, with a light heart.

The next day, Lewis Morris rode over to Sugar Grove to expostulate with Larry. He had heard that the Heatons had offered Larry one thousand dollars and one-eighth of the gate-money. "Now," said he to Larry, "I cannot play with the nine, next season, neither can Al Heaton, and the chances are that Will Sprague will drop out, too. Charlie King does not need any pay or any income from the playing to induce him to go. So he will not want any gate-money. Geo. Buckner says he will go along as an extra man, and he will take neither salary nor gate-money. If we get Sam Morrison and Neddie Ellis, we shall have to pay them gate-money at least. But there will be, according to my figuring, only seven out of ten to draw on the gate-money, for Hiram Porter, I am sure, will decline to take anything for his services."

Larry expressed his entire satisfaction with the terms offered him by Mr. Heaton, on behalf of the new club. He was willing to do what he could, short of any great sacrifice, to make up a strong nine. He would take less salary, or less of the income of the club, if that were necessary to induce the best men to join it.

"That's very good of you, Larry, old boy," said Morris, heartily, "but you can't afford to waste your summer playing base ball for nothing. I want them to take Bill Van Orman from the Dean County boys. How do you think he would do?"

"First-rate! First-rate!" cried Larry, with enthusiasm. "I do not think of another fellow on the river as good as he is as catcher, unless it is Al Heaton, and he is out of the question."

"Unless it is Larry Boyne," said Morris, reproachfully. "You are a great sight better catcher than Bill Van Orman, and I should hope you would take that place if you were to go into the new Catalpa Nine."

Larry protested that he had watched Van Orman's catching for two seasons, and had made up his mind that he was the best man in that position that could be got, now that Al Heaton was out of the field. Would Van Orman serve at all?

"Oh, yes," replied Morris. "All of the Dean County boys are just wild to get into the new nine. They are willing to play for Catalpa, and they don't care whether they are in their own nine or in a new one. They drop all thoughts of rivalry, so far as the future is concerned."

As Lewis Morris cantered back from his visit to Sugar Grove, he met Cyrus Ayres, driving homeward from town, his lumber-wagon making a great din as it rattled and rumbled over the rough, frozen road. The two young men exchanged greetings as they passed, and Cyrus call out to Lewis something which the noise of the wagon drowned; so, turning back, he said, "What was that you were saying about Bill Van Orman?"

"Oh, I only said that Bill is to be catcher in the new nine. I was in Jase Elderkin's store, just now, and he allowed that Bill would take anything the boys had a mind to give him. But Charlie King and Ben Burton said that Larry Boyne wouldn't want to serve as catcher, if he did go into the new nine, and that Bill would be the next best man, and Larry would go on one of the bases. Say first base. How's that, think ye?"

"I don't like it," said Lewis, "but we'll see what we shall see. I am willing, so far as I am concerned, to leave it all to Larry. He has got a level head, and don't you forget it."

"Right you are," responded Cyrus, as, giving the reins to his impatient team, he rattled noisily down the river road.

As he passed Judge Howell's handsome house, Lewis looked up and caught the glance of Miss Alice, who was sitting in the window-seat, curled up on a big cushion, and scribbling something that seemed to puzzle her very much. The girl wrote, re-wrote, erased and wrote again. Finally she held her work, somewhat blurred and scratchy as it was, at arm's length, and said in soliloquy,

"I really think that is the very best thing that could be done! But I wonder what I put that young Irishman's name at the head of the list for?"

With a faint pink tint suffusing her cheek, she drew a line through the name at the top of the page, wrote it at the bottom, and then laughed softly to herself. Just then Lewis Morris rode by, gallantly taking off his cap as he passed the house. If Mr. Lewis could have looked over Alice's shoulder, he would have read this list of names:

S. Morrison, L.F.
Neddie Ellis, C.F.
Charlie King, P.
Hart Stirling, 2d B.
John Brubaker, R.F.
Hiram Porter, 1st B.
Ben Burton, S.S.
Wm. Van Orman, 3d B.
Lawrence Boyne, Catcher.

Alice concealed the paper in her pocket, as she saw her father drive up the road from the bridge. Then she took it out again with a pretty little air of determination, saying to herself. "My papa knows that I am so much interested in the new nine scheme, why shouldn't I tell him that this is what I think about the re-organization?"

So, when the Judge, that night, drew his motherless child to his knee, she brought to him the list of players which she had made out.

"Perhaps you will think it mannish in me, papa," she said, "but I have made out a list of the players in the new Catalpa nine. I have a whim that this is about the way they will be placed."

The Judge took the crumpled and blurred paper, and running his eyes over it, said, "That is a good cast, as they say in the theaters, Alice; but don't you think you are a little premature? The new nine is not yet formed, and until they begin to practice they can hardly tell where each player should be placed. I don't pretend to know much about the game; not so much as my little daughter does, for example, but isn't that about the way it strikes you?"

Alice admitted that her father was right. But she had given a great deal of thought to the matter. Everybody in the town was discussing this absorbing topic. And, out of all that she had heard, she had evolved this cast of characters, so to speak. Anticipating the story of the Catalpa nine a little, it may be said that Alice Howell's list, although its features were known only to herself and her father, was adopted with two exceptions, Larry Boyne was chosen to the third base and Bill Van Orman took the position of catcher. But this was not done until far later in the winter, when the new nine was finally organized for the summer campaign.

[CHAPTER V.]

NOTES OF PREPARATION.

On the ridge above the town of Catalpa stands a huge building known as "The Fair Building." When the Northern District Agricultural Fair was held in Catalpa, this structure was used for displays of mammoth squashes, women's handiwork, exhibits of flax, wheat, flour, and the other products of the fertile region of Northern Illinois. Now it was given over to desolation and neglect. The men who had helped to pay for its erection were not willing to signify by tearing it down that they had given up all hope of ever winning back to Catalpa the institution that had moved away up to the northern part of the state. Some of these days, they said, the Fair would come back to Catalpa, and then the building would be ready for the show, as of old.

The promoters of the new base ball club scheme had no difficulty in securing permission for the players to practice in the building. Accordingly, when the leisure days of winter came on, the lads betook themselves to the lonesome and barnlike structure and warmed themselves with the exercise that pitching, catching and running made needful.

"If we had had this old ark built for us," said Hiram Porter, whose father was one of the Directors of the Agricultural Society, "it couldn't have been better planned. Suppose we call a ball sent up there where Marm Deyo used to spread out her wonderful bed-quilts a foul ball? And then we might imagine that the lower gallery is full of girls looking on at Larry's scientific pitching. Gals—gallery; see?" and the boys all laughed at Hiram's small joke, for their spirits rose as they warmed to their work.

Thither went, also, occasionally, a favored few of the townspeople who were very much waked up now over the work of the Nine that was to be the champion of the region, if not of the State. To such an extent had the men, women and children of Catalpa been aroused by what was going on, that a stranger coming into town and hearing the gossip around the street corners and in the more comfortable stores and shops, would have supposed that Catalpa was devoting itself exclusively to the practice of base ball. It was the dead of winter, and, except a few teams slowly pulling in from the outlying country, with a few farmers in quest of the necessaries of life from the town stores, very little life was visible about the place. Occasionally, a fierce snow storm would sweep over the town, blocking the streets, and cutting it off from all communication except by railroad. The main street would be desolate, and the bridge show only a solitary passenger whom dire necessity brought out in such a cold and wintry gale as the "blizzard" proved to be.

At such times, however, up in the big Fair Building whose yawning cracks let in the driving snow, and on whose roof the shingles rattled merrily, a party of hardy and stalwart young fellows was sure to be found practicing arduously for the work of the coming summer. Around the hot stoves in the lounging-places, down town, grown men were talking of base ball, and small boys, hanging eagerly on the outer edges of the groups, drank in with silent intelligence the words of wisdom that dropped from the lips of their elders. For a time, at least, it looked as if nothing would ever be done in that town but to prepare for the base ball season of the next year.

But the winter wore away and the regular industries of the Stone River Valley began to revive. The ice went out of the river with the usual rush, and people wondered, as they always had, if the bridge would stand the pressure of the ice-flood. The roads were once more channels of bottomless mud, and eastern people, whom business errands brought out into that part of the country, sourly berated a country "in which everything depended on the state of the roads." The blue jays were calling from the tree-tops and the meadow larks were whistling along the fences. The prairies were gradually growing green, and the low places and hollows where the snow lately lingered became shining pools reflecting the tender blue of the spring sky.

One day, Bill Van Orman, after carefully going over the Agricultural Fair Grounds in company with Al Heaton, reported that it was about time to begin practicing out of doors. For months, the members of the new nine had been wishing for the day to come when they could get out into the open air and put some of their indoor practice into actual work. So, with the assistance of a few of their associates who were not members of the new club, they organized two nines and went to work in earnest.

The long winter had borne its fruit. The talk and gossip of the town had run almost altogether to base ball. There was nobody in Catalpa, unless it was poor old Father Bickerby, who was stone deaf, who had not heard the smallest particulars of the progress of the new nine discussed. Did Larry Boyne make a particularly fine running, one-hand catch in the practice of a winter's afternoon? It was minutely described that night over a hundred tea-tables in Catalpa. Did Charlie King bewilder everybody, some day, by the dexterity and rapidity of the balls that he delivered, so that even the players, always reluctant to praise each other, applauded him? Sage old men hanging over the open fire in the drug store would say that Charlie King "would warm those Jonesvillers, next summer."

And, what was of more immediate importance, the financial arrangements necessary to start the club prosperously on its way were perfected while the dull times of a western winter pervaded the town of Catalpa. Judge Howell, himself, with an air of great condescension, headed a list of gentlemen who agreed to give a certain sum to enable the club to carry out their campaign. Others followed the great man of the town, according to their ability. And others, again, pledged themselves to lend any sum that might be required to make up a possible deficiency. But, so many who were able to give outright to what they called "the good cause" came forward with their gifts, there was no chance for any deficiency. Since the outbreak of the war, when everybody was scraping lint, making "comforts" for the soldiers, or marching to the front, there had not been so hot a fever of enthusiasm in Catalpa.

The soldiers of this new campaign were the lusty young heroes up in the Agricultural Fair Grounds who were doing battle, every day, with imaginary foes and making ready to face the real antagonists who could not now be very far off; for the base ball season would open in a few weeks. There was a little jealousy over the choice of a captain. Gradually, the place of each man in the nine had been settled without much debate. As we have seen, the list that Alice Howell had made up, in the privacy of her own solitude, became that which the players finally fixed upon, except that Larry Boyne went to third base and Bill Van Orman took the place of catcher, instead of the positions which the fair Alice had assigned them in her draft of an ideal nine.

Ben Burton was supported for the captaincy of the club by several of the members, all of the new players, except Larry Boyne, being in favor of choosing him. Ben was a warm champion of his own claims to the place. Larry, on the other hand, modestly, but very decidedly, supported Hiram Porter for the post of Captain. He was in every way fit for it, and he and his father had done more for the new club than any others. Besides all that, the Porters held a first-rate social position in Dean County and that would count for something in the organizing of the campaign. The young men considered the withdrawal of Al Heaton, and the cause of his loss to them, and they laughed at the thought. Ben Burton was very savage at the suggestion that his family was not just as good as the Porters. What had family to do with base ball, anyway?

The discussion grew warm, after a while, and Larry and Ben were brought into sharp antagonism. There had been rumors that Larry Boyne had dared to show to Miss Alice Howell some of the little attentions with which the young swains of the region were wont to manifest their admiration for a young lady of their choice. He had even gone so far as to ask her to allow him to drive her to a little dancing party given in Darville, one of the numerous rivals of Catalpa, a little prairie town on the Rush River Railroad, twelve miles distant. Alice, warned by a suggestion from her father, who exhibited a species of panic at the bare idea of the invitation, had declined the young man's kindly offer, and had staid at home to murmur at her hard fate. Ben Burton could not seriously cherish a belief that Larry Boyne was "paying attention" to the Judge's daughter; but he felt that he, somehow, owed him a grudge.

The impending storm, if any really did impend, blew over when it was ascertained by ballot that Hiram Porter was the choice of the club. And Hiram, who was tall, dark, strong, long of limb, handsome and skillful, was accordingly chosen captain of the Catalpa nine. Ben Burton, with some show of generous magnanimity, clapped Hiram on the back and boisterously congratulated him on his having secured the coveted honor of the captaincy. But Larry, with a manly air, said, "You'll find that all the boys will take orders from you, Hi, with as much cheerfulness as if we were soldiers in the field and you were leading them to battle. Isn't that so, fellows?"

The rest of the young men noisily and heartily asserted their allegiance to their chief, and the new club began their final preparations for the field with enthusiasm and harmonious good-will.

By the evening lamp, that night, in Judge Howell's house, the matter was discussed by the Judge and his daughter. "It is an excellent choice, Alice, my child, don't you think so?"

"Certainly, papa, but it is not of very great importance, after all, who is captain of the nine. 'The play's the thing,' as Hamlet says; isn't it Hamlet, papa?"

"I don't know about that, my little girl, I am somewhat rusty in my Shakespeare; but the play is the thing, I suppose. Nevertheless, since social rank does not go for much in base ball, I should have been glad to see Larry Boyne made the captain of the new nine."

"Oh, papa, that was not to be thought of. He is a new recruit. Who knows how he may turn out? He may be a secret emissary from Jonesville to 'throw the game,' some day."

"Bless my life!" cried the Judge, "I never thought of that."

[CHAPTER VI.]

AN INTERESTING EPISODE.

Although the stock of the Catalpa Base Ball Club was divided among many share-holders in the town of Catalpa, it was evident that the mere holding, or non-holding, of shares made no difference with those who were engaged in the active duties of playing. To be sure, the nine had not yet begun their summer campaign. The first of April was early enough for the beginning of outdoor practice, and active work in the field would not open until the first of May; but enough had been done, in the preliminary organization and preparing for the summer's work, to test the temper of the members of the club. It was not a purely business-like venture into which these young men had gone for the purpose of making capital or money for themselves. They were burning to retrieve the reputation of "Old Catalpa" as they called their town, albeit it was one of the youngest in Northern Illinois.

And so, as Larry Boyne and Al Heaton were sitting on the rail fence that encloses the Court House of Dean County, in Catalpa, discussing the future prospects of the club, both were confidential and intimate in their exchange of opinions concerning the members of the nine.

"No, I tell you that you are wrong, Al, in your estimate of Ben Burton," said Larry, earnestly. "I do not think that I could be prejudiced against Ben; and I try to judge him fairly; and so I cannot bring myself to believe that he would be tricky, or that he would undertake to play any foul game on me, or on anybody else, for that matter. He is sullen and moody, at times, and I know that he took to heart his defeat as candidate for captain of the club. I know that he don't like me, although I don't know why he should dislike me, as he certainly does."

"Pooh! Larry," was Albert's frank reply, "you know well enough that he fancies that you are in his way as a suitor for the hand of a certain young lady, whose name shall not be mentioned even in this very select society. He knows that that young lady smiles on you in the most bewitching way, and he knows—"

"Oh, see here, Al," interrupted Larry, with flaming cheeks, "you are riding your horse with a free rein, don't you think so? I have no right to think of any young lady with the seriousness you seem to put into the matter. I am young, poor, and without friends or influence."

"Hold on there, Larry," cried young Heaton, warmly. "You have no right to say that. You will never want for friends. You have a town-full of them, and when you need any one to stand by and back you up in anything you undertake, you can just put out your hand, without getting off of this rail, to find one friend that will be the man to stand right there as long as he is wanted."

Larry laid his hand on Albert's knee as he said, "I know that, Al, and it is good to know it and to have you say it in that straightforward way of yours, and I will say too, that your father called me into the mill, the other day, and said pretty much the same thing to me; and he told me that he should consider it a favor, or something of that sort, if I would allow him to have a fatherly lookout for the folks at home, while I am off, this summer, in case anything should happen." And Larry's honest blue eyes filled with moisture as he looked far off over the outlying prairie, in the vain effort to conceal how deeply he had felt the kindness showed to him.

"That was very good of the Governor, I'm sure," said Albert, stoutly, "and I don't care if he is my father of whom I am saying it. But it's nothing more than fair for him, and for the rest of us who stay at home, to do what we can to keep your mind at ease about your folks while you are out in the ball field for the summer. But what I was getting at is this: Ben Burton is down on you; he will try to get the advantage of you, if he can; and, what is of more consequence to all of us, he would not scruple to bring the whole club into disgrace for the sake of gratifying any selfish purpose that he might happen to have in view."

"But what evil purpose could he have?" demanded Larry.

"As I said before, I don't know. I don't want to do Ben an injustice, but I do know that he is underhanded and mean. So you look out for him. As far as his relations to you are concerned, I might say, if you were not so everlastingly toploftical about it, that he is jealous of you on account of your supposed good standing with Alice Howell—"

"Oh, hush-h-h-h!" cried Larry, looking around in unfeigned consternation, to see if there were listeners near. "You really must not mention that young lady's name in that manner, nor in any manner connected with my own. It would be almost insulting to her, it would fill the Judge with wrath (and I shouldn't blame him for being angry), to know that gossiping young fellows like us were using his daughter's name in this light fashion."

"And why, I should like to know?" answered Albert. "He need not put on any high and mighty airs. I have heard my father say that when the Howellses came here from Kentucky, when the Stone River country was first settled, and old man Hixon was running his ferry across the stream here, they were so poor that they wore bed-ticking clothes, went barefoot, and lived on hog and hominy for many a year afterwards. Side-meat was good enough for them then. The fat of the land is not good enough for them now. It just makes me sick! Such airs!" And honest Albert got down from the fence to give freer expression to his deep disgust.

Larry went away from this casual meeting with his stanch friend Albert with a sense of depression. His nature was unsuspicious and he chose to think that all men were as honest and as frank as he certainly was. Young Heaton's talk had shaken his faith in human nature as far as that was represented in one man—Ben Burton, the open-eyed and bluff Ben Burton. No wonder Larry repelled Al Heaton's notion that Ben "was not altogether square" and should be watched.

Larry was to stop at Armstrong's blacksmith shop, on the north side, on his way home, to have his horse shod. So, as he was leading the animal across the bridge, lost in thought and dwelling somewhat darkly on his conversation with Al Heaton, he did not notice that a young lady, very charmingly dressed and daintily booted and gloved, was tripping along toward him from the opposite side of the river, in the foot-walk that skirted the lower side of the rickety old wooden bridge. He did not look up until his steed, never very easily startled out of a heavy and slouching gait, jumped wildly at a sudden flash from a sky-blue parasol which the young lady deliberately shook at him.

"Whoa, Nance!" cried Larry, astonished at the beast's unprecedented skittishness, "you old fool!" but here he stopped, for his eyes fell on the bewitching apparition on the other side of the timbered rail, and he colored deeply red as he beheld Miss Alice ready to giggle at his confusion.

"Good day, Mr. Boyne," said the girl, "I am glad I have met you. I wanted to ask you how the club is getting along, and if you think you will be in good condition for the coming season. To be sure, papa tells me that he has every confidence in your success; but then, papa is hardly a judge in base ball matters, you know, although he has learned a great deal lately, and so have many other people, and they all seem very confident; but the wish is father to the thought, you know, and so I thought I would like to see some one in whose judgment and candor I could put a great deal of confidence, a very great deal, you know, and see what he thinks about the prospect before us. I say 'us,' you see, because it is a sort of town matter. Now isn't it?"

The young lady had rattled on in a random manner, as if she was giving time for Larry to recover himself. Certainly, he needed time. He was covered with blushes, not altogether becoming, for his natural color was quite deep enough for all artistic considerations. But as he stood there, cap in hand, the river breeze lightly lifting his brown curls and fanning his hot cheeks, the maiden's bright eyes rested on the picture with a certain sense of satisfaction, and she said to her most secret and hidden inner self that there were very few handsomer young men in the region than he who stood before her.

"I WANTED TO ASK YOU HOW THE CLUB IS GETTING ALONG."—Page 64.

Larry, laying his brown hand on the timber guard that capped the railing betwixt them, said, "You startled me so, Miss Alice, that I almost forgot my manners; and I haven't much. Oh, you wanted to know about the prospects of the Catalpa Nine? Well, I do not think it would be wise to build many hopes on the future until we have met at least one of the best nines of the country about us. Some of our friends think we are going to sweep the deck. Excuse the expression. And some are even talking of our being the champion nine of the state."

"Why," said the girl, "don't you hope for the championship? Is not that what you are going out to get?"

"Of course, Miss Alice, we hope for everything that is in sight, as the saying is; but we cannot expect, with any sort of reason, for so great success as that during our very first season. The matches are now nearly all made up for the coming season, and if we were never so good players, we should have no chance for the championship, I am afraid."

"I never thought of that," said Alice. "What an awful lot you know about base ball. But then that is because you are a man. My papa says that girls have no business learning about base ball. Now what do you think, Mr. Boyne?"

"I am not used to being called 'Mr. Boyne' for one thing," replied Larry, gallantly, "and I should feel very much honored indeed if Miss Howell would remember that I am only 'Larry' the new third base man of the Catalpa Nine."

The heavy rumble of a farm wagon driving up on the town end of the bridge at that moment warned Larry that he must get out of the way. So, with a few concise words as to the all-absorbing topic of the day, he bowed, replaced his cap, and passed on to North Catalpa.

Sal Monnahan drove the sorrel horses that now came pounding along the wooden way. When she reached her home in Oneosho Village, that evening, she informed her nearest neighbor that she had seen "Larry Boyne lallygagging with that high-strung darter of Judge Howell's, on the North Catalpa bridge, that arternoon, and then when the gal came off she looked as if she had been talking with her sweetheart, her eyes were so shiny, just like dimonds, and her cheeks were as red as a poppy in the corn. It do beat all how that young Irish feller gets on with folks in town. Gals and fellers—all the same."

As for Larry, he went across the bridge, leading his nag, and walking so lightly that it seemed to him that his steps were in the air. While Armstrong was shoeing the horse and chatting the while with Larry, he thought within himself that this was a particularly fine young fellow, and that it was a pity that he was poor. Presently his thoughts took shape and he said:

"Don't you think you are too smart a chap, Larry, to waste your time playing base ball?"

"I am not going to waste much time playing, Tom. I know enough about base ball to know that a player doesn't last as a good player more than ten or twelve years. He is too young to play before he is seventeen years old, and he is done for and is dropped out by the time he is thirty. So if I had any notion of making ball-playing my calling in life, I should have that fact in view to warn me. Oh, no Tom, I am only making this a bridge to carry me over a hard place."

"That's good sense. I was afraid you were going off with the base ball fever, and so never be fit for anything else. That's what will become of some of those young kids over in town who don't think of anything, from morning till night, but base ball. I always thought you had more sense into you than most of the boys around here. You are older than your years, Larry," and the plain-speaking blacksmith looked admiringly in the young man's face, "older than your years."

"Older than your years." These words rang in Larry's ears as he swung himself lightly into his saddle and ambled down the river road to Sugar Grove.

The blacksmith looked after him and muttered to himself, "He is smart enough to be anything in the way of a lawyer that there is in these parts. And if he were to cast sheep's eyes on the Judge's daughter, or on anybody else's daughter, for that matter, I just believe he would win her in time. He's got such a taking way with him." And honest Thomas Armstrong resumed his work with a mild glow of pleasure stealing through him as he thought of Larry Boyne and his possibilities.

[CHAPTER VII.]

IN THE FIELD.

It was an impressive occasion when the Catalpa club started on their first pilgrimage. They had arranged a practice game with the Black Hawk Nine, of Sandy Key, in the central part of the State, to begin the season with. Other games were arranged for later work, but this match, which was partly for practice, and partly to test the material of the new nine, was felt to be one of the most important. From Sandy Key the Nine were to go to Bluford to play the famous "Zoo-zoo Nine," as they called themselves, of that city, and then they were to begin a struggle for the championship of Northern Illinois with the Red Stockings of Galena. How much depended on the result of the meeting of the Black Hawks and the Catalpas, you who have followed the career of a base ball nine can best reckon.

In Catalpa, at least, the game would be watched with great, although distant, interest and absorption. Two or three of the more active promoters of the Base Ball scheme were to go down to Sandy Key, which is on the Illinois Central Railroad, to witness the struggle of their favorite champions with the strangers. The Black Hawks were renowned as fielders. They had acquired a reputation that inspired terror among the base ball players of the southern portion of the state; and when it was noised abroad that a new nine from Dean County, heretofore unknown in the Diamond Field, had actually challenged the Black Hawks, experienced amateurs and professional players made remarks about the assurance of the new men from the North that were not intended to be complimentary or encouraging.

The Catalpas had adopted blue as their standard color, and a uniform of blue and white, with a pennant of white, edged and lettered with blue, carried the colors of the club into new and untried fields. Great was the enthusiasm of the townspeople when the club, packed into two big omnibuses, with their friends, finally departed for the railway station, which was on the outer and upper edge of the town. A vast number of sympathizing friends and well-wishers attended the party to the station, and those who remained in town watched with a certain impressiveness the coming train as it skirted North Catalpa, crossed the tall trestle work that spanned the river below the town and finally disappeared in the grove of trees near the depot.

It had been told all abroad that the new nine was to make its first sally on that train, and the jaded and dusty passengers from the North looked from the windows with languid interest as the lusty young fellows made a final rush for the cars, followed by the irregular cheers of the bystanders and accompanied by a goodly number of their old associates who were "going to see fair play." The conductor, with an affectation of indifference that he did not feel, disdained to look at the surging and animated crowd, but turned his face toward the engine, waved his hand, and shouted "all aboard!" just as if he did not carry Catalpa and its fortunes with him. The train rolled away, innumerable handkerchiefs and caps waving from its windows, and hearty and long resounding cheers flying after it. A cloud of yellow dust, a hollow rumble of the train on the culvert beyond, a tall column of blackness floating from the engine over the woods, and the Catalpa Nine were gone.

"I never felt so wrought up in all my life," said Alice Howell, confidentially, to her friend Ida Boardman, as they descended the hill toward the town. "It seems, sometimes, as if I was sure that our Nine would win, and then, again, I am almost certain that they will be beaten by the Black Hawks. I saw the Black Hawks play the Springfields, last summer, and they were glorious players; such fielding! Oh, I am almost sure they will out-field our boys."

"If our nine were all like that Larry Boyne; why, isn't he just splendid? If they were all like him, I should have no fears for Catalpa. And then there's Hiram Porter, how beautifully he does handle the bat! Don't you think Larry Boyne is the handsomest young fellow in the Nine, Alice?"

Alice colored, she knew not why, as she made answer: "I don't see what good looks have to do with playing. You are so illogical, Ida. What do you think of Ben Burton, for example. Don't you think he is handsome enough to make a good player?"

"Ben Burton! why he is perfectly horrid, and so disagreeable and high and mighty in his ways. I detest him, and if anybody loses the game, to-morrow, I hope it will be he. No, I take that back, for I cannot bear to think that anybody will lose the game for our Nine. Do you, Ally?"

Alice agreed most heartily with her friend that it would be a strange and lamentable catastrophe if the game at Sandy Key should be lost by the Catalpas.

"But I am afraid, I am afraid," the girl repeated as the twain slowly paced down the plank walk leading to the town. Her words were re-echoed, that day, many times by the people of Catalpa who would have given a great deal if "the boys" could have been thereby assured of success on the morrow.

Meantime, as the train was speeding onward, the nine were in high spirits and full of fun. For a time, at least, their thoughts were with those left behind rather than with the unknown adversaries that were before them. They were too young and buoyant to borrow trouble. Their spirits rose as they plunged forward into new scenes, and all suggestions of possible defeats were left unheeded for to-day. Only Larry, "older than his years," felt a little foreboding at the entrance of this most important crisis of his young life. But his cheery face showed no sign of distrust or anxiety. He was, as usual, the center of a lively and talkative group of his comrades. He wore in his button-hole a delicate knot of flowers which had come there so mysteriously that none of the noisy fellows about him could guess who had put it there.

"Who is she? Why didn't we see her?" queried the laughing boys as they pressed around Larry, affecting to sniff great delight from his nosegay. Larry's face beamed as he told them that this was a reminder that every Irishman must do his duty, and that he was going to carry the little bouquet to the field of victory for the Catalpas.

"Those pansies grew in Judge Howell's garden," said Ben Burton, surlily, from his seat. Larry's eyes flashed at the covert insult that he thought he saw under Ben's sneer. But he said not a word.

"For shame, Ben Burton!" cried Al Heaton, "for shame to call names like that!"

There was a little cloud over the sun for a fleeting moment. But Larry's bright face and cheery voice soon dispelled the transient shadow, and the talk was turned into merrier channels. Ben Burton grumbled to himself, and, as he saw how his fellows clustered around Larry, whose brown and shining curls were only now and again visible among the lads who pranced about him, he said to Bill Van Orman, "Thinks he's the biggest toad in the puddle; don't he, Bill?" Bill, whose nickname was "The Lily," because he was so big, and red, and beefy, only opened his eyes in surprise.

The telegraph office in Catalpa was in the second story of Niles's building, a brick structure on the main street of the town and chiefly occupied by lawyers and doctors. The narrow stairway was found too narrow for the throngs of people who flocked thither, next day, to learn the news from the contest in Sandy Key. Arrangements had been made by The Catalpa Leaf, the only daily paper in the place, to publish bulletins from the base ball ground, as fast as received. To all inquirers, Miss Millicent Murch, "the accomplished lady operator," as the local newspapers called her, stiffly replied that the telegraph office had no news to give away and that the editor of The Leaf would distribute his intelligence as soon as received.

Even to so great a personage as Judge Howell, who early appeared in search of information, the young lady gave her one unvarying answer. But public excitement ran high when, about two o'clock in the afternoon, a despatch from Al Heaton was received by his father, saying that the game had been called and that "the boys were in tip-top condition." Mr. Heaton signified his intention of staying at the office or thereabouts, until the game was over, in order to receive Al's despatches.

"Is Albert going to send despatches from the ball ground, all day, Mr. Heaton?" asked Alice Howell, who, with sparkling eyes, was eagerly waiting for news from the absent company.

"Indeed he is, Alice," said Mr. Heaton. "That is what he went down to Sandy Key for, and I think you know my boy well enough to believe that he will keep us informed. Al is as much of an enthusiast in base ball matters as you and I are, my dear, and if he is alive and well we will hear from him until the fortunes of the day are decided." Mr. Heaton smiled in a kindly way as he looked down into the bright face of the young lady, and added, "And I believe and hope that he will send us a pleasant message before the day is done. Depend upon that."

"I hope so too, Mr. Heaton," Alice replied, with a slight cloud passing over her countenance, "but somehow, I feel as if we were to be defeated this time. I don't know why. But that is my superstitious notion about it."

Meantime, the telegraph machine had been industriously ticking and Miss Millicent writing as industriously, while the bystanders were talking in low tones.

"A message for Mr. Heaton," said the operator, with perfect composure, as she folded and placed in an envelope, duly addressed, a telegraph despatch which she handed to Mr. Heaton.

"Hateful old thing!" murmured Miss Ida Boardman, "she has had that message all the time and said nothing about it until she got good and ready."

"Hush!" said Alice, in a sort of stage whisper, "let us hear the news."

Mr. Heaton, having glanced hurriedly over the despatch, cried, "Good news from the boys! Hear this!" A dead silence prevailed in the office as the beaming miller read:—

Hurrah for our side! First two innings over. Catalpas score two. Black Hawks none. Great excitement in Sandy Key. Everything lovely.

ALBERT.

"Hooray!" broke from many lips, and the waiting crowd below the windows, hearing the cry, took it up and a fusillade of irregular and scattering hurrahs scattered along the street. Judge Howell, who had lingered during the noonday recess of his court, admonished the crowd that the lady at the telegraph desk would be embarrassed by the confusion, whereupon the company went out and added their joy to that of the assemblage that crowded around a bulletin that was at once posted by the door of The Catalpa Leaf office.

"What did I tell you, Alice," said Miss Ida, regardless of the fact that she had told her nothing. "Didn't I say that the Catalpas would win?"

"But the game has only just begun," said Alice. "I am still hoping and fearing, and I am not going to be put off of my base, so to speak, by the first news which happens to be good. Only two innings, Ida; remember that."

The cheering of the small boys and the excited comments of the still smaller girls, however, proved infectious. One would think that a great battle had been fought, and that victory was already assured to the household troops. The dry-goods man laid down his yard-stick; the carpenter dropped his plane, and even the old bridge-tender forsook his post long enough to stroll into the nearest barber-shop and ask for the news from "the boys" in Sandy Key.

"Another bulletin!" cried Hank Jackson, the burly short stop of the Dean County Nine, as the tall form of Mr. Heaton emerged from the telegraph office. This time, the face of the ardent champion of Catalpa's prowess was not illuminated by a smile. Mounting a convenient dry-goods box, he announced that two more innings had been played and that the score then stood two and two, the Black Hawks having made two runs, and the Catalpas having added nothing to their score. A blank silence fell on the assemblage and Henry Jackson vengefully planted his big fist, with a tremendous thud, upon the short ribs of a side of beef that hung from the doorway of Adee's butcher shop. "That for the Black Hawks," he muttered, with clenched teeth.

But a great triumph was in store for the friends of the absent sons of Catalpa. Even while Alice Howell was trying to cheer her despondent friend Ida with the suggestion that the game was "yet young," the Editor of The Leaf, whose despatches were sent to him across the street in a flying box attached to a wire, put his dishevelled head out of his office window and excitedly cried, "Three cheers for the Catalpa Nine! Fifth inning, Catalpas, five; Black Hawks, one!"

There was something like a little groan for the discomfited Black Hawks and then a wild yell broke out for the home nine. The small boys hurrahed shrilly and lustily, and even the street dogs, sharing in the general joy, barked noisily and aimlessly around the edges of the crowd. Miss Anstress Howell, scanning the joyful mob from the windows of her brother's office, remarked to herself, with aggravated sourness, that it was perfectly ridiculous to see Alice mixing herself up there in the street with a lot of lunatics who were making themselves absurd over a pesky base ball game, away down in Sangamon County. It was unaccountable.

Judge Howell, sitting on his judicial bench in the court-house on the hill, heard the pother in the town below and covertly smiled behind his large white hand to think that the home nine was undoubtedly doing well in Sandy Key.

Once more the traditional enterprise of the daily press vindicated itself with the earliest news, and Editor Downey put out of his office window his uncovered head, every hair of which stood up with excitement, as he bawled, "Sixth inning, Catalpas, none; Black Hawks, two. Seventh inning, no runs scored."

"Now you yoost keep your big fists out of my beef!" said Jake Adee, with his wrathful eye fixed on Hank Jackson, who was looking around for some enemy to punch. There was depression in the crowd, but Alice Howell smiled cheerfully in the rueful face of Mr. Heaton and said that she felt her spirits rising. She was getting more confident as the rest of the party became despondent.

"THREE CHEERS FOR THE CATALPA NINE."—Page 78.

The innings had been made rapidly. Scarcely an hour had passed, and, so intense was the interest in the game, that everybody thought the despatches had trodden upon each other in their hurry to tumble into Catalpa. It was a warm, bright day, and the prairie wind blew softly down the hill above the town. To look into the knots of people standing about the street corners, one would suppose that it was an August noon. Everybody was perspiring. It was a warm engagement down there in Sandy Key where the boys were vigorously doing battle for the honor of old Catalpa. But it seemed even hot in the town where the people waited for the news.

So when Mr. Heaton, radiant with joy, and without waiting to come down the stairs of the telegraph office, put his leg and his head out of the window of the building and cried "Good news again!" everybody stood breathless. As Miss Anstress Howell afterwards remarked, with disdain, one might have heard a pin drop.

Victory! victory! Eighth inning, Catalpas, nine; Black Hawks, none. Glory enough for one day. Your loving son,

ALBERT.

Then went up a shout that reached the jury in the case of the County of Dean against Jeremiah Stowell, shut up in the close room provided in the court-house for jurors and other criminals, and which startled Judge Howell, who, looking out of the window from his private room, beheld his daughter, flushed and almost tearful with joy, hurrying across the court-house green, eager to tell her father the good news. The solitary horse-thief in the jail heard that hurrah and wondered if relief was coming to him from his long-delayed accomplices. Dr. Everett, reining his sturdy steed at the next street corner above the telegraph office, asked a wandering small boy what had happened, but got no answer, for the urchin was off like a shot to tell his mates who were bathing prematurely down under the mill dam. And careful housewives, making ready their early suppers, in houses beyond the railroad track, heard the yell of triumph, and softly laughed to be told in this far-off way that the Catalpa nine were victorious over their adversaries in Sandy Key.

The game was virtually decided. The ninth and last inning showed one run for the Catalpas and a "goose egg" for the Black Hawks. There was more cheering in the street under the windows of the telegraph office. Somebody suggested that the flag should be hoisted on the Court House, but fears of Judge Howell's displeasure and veto prevailed, and the proposition fell dead. Hiram Porter's father, however, raised the stars and stripes over the Catalpa House of which he was proprietor. Editor Downey flung out from his third story window the red bunting with the white Catalpa Leaf that symbolized his standard sheet to the world below.

Later on, when the wild shower of despatches from Al Heaton, Hiram Porter, and others of the home nine, had ceased for a time, this bulletin appeared on the board of The Catalpa Leaf.

A GLORIOUS VICTORY FOR OUR NINE! OLD CATALPA TO THE FRONT!

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9
Catalpas 2 0 0 0 5 0 0 9 1=17.
Black Hawks 0 0 0 2 1 2 0 0 0= 5.
First Base by errors, Catalpas, 8; Black Hawks, 1.
Earned Runs, Catalpas, 7; Black Hawks, 1.
Struck out, Catalpas, 2; Black Hawks, 5.

Our esteemed fellow citizen, Benjamin F. Burton, especially distinguished himself with his fine play at short stop, and Larry Boyne, of Sugar Grove, did some of the most brilliant work in the game, having made the highest number of runs of any man in the Nine, and being 'like lightning' as a third base man. Great excitement prevails in Sandy Key, but our men have been treated with distinguished courtesy by the citizens. The receipts at the gate were nearly $1,000.

When Al Heaton came home, next day, he was the hero and oracle of the hour. By reflection, he was shining with the honors of the Catalpa Nine. Wherever he went about the town, he was sure to become the center of an admiring knot of fellow-citizens and small boys, eager to learn how the absent ball-players bore themselves in the arena at Sandy Key.

"I tell you what it is, fellows," said Albert, "you should have seen 'The Lily,' as they call Bill Van Orman, get on the home base in the fifth inning. He never stopped to look for the ball. He seemed to have eyes in the back of his head, and just as he was on the point of being caught out, when he was at least ten feet from the home base, he gave a lunge and threw himself flat on his stomach, ploughed up the turf as he plunged forwards, and, reaching out, grabbed the bag with his hands before he could be put out. Ten feet did I say? Well, I should say it was nearer fifteen feet. And you should have seen 'The Lily's' track where he scooted along that turf."

"The Leaf's correspondent telegraphed that Ben Burton covered himself all over with glory," remarked Jason Elderkin. "How was that?"