e was collared I saw
at least four blue-coats on the grass.

The game broke up, and the crowd spilled itself in streams over the
field. Excitement ran high. I tried to force my way into the mass to
get at the Rube and the officers, but this was impossible. I feared
the Rube would be taken from the officers and treated with violence, so
I waited with the surging crowd, endeavoring to get nearer. Soon we
were in the street, and it seemed as if all the stands had emptied
their yelling occupants.

A trolley car came along down the street, splitting the mass of people
and driving them back. A dozen policemen summarily bundled the Rube
upon the rear end of the car. Some of these officers boarded the car,
and some remained in the street to beat off the vengeful fans.

I saw some one thrust forward a frantic young woman. The officers
stopped her, then suddenly helped her on the car, just as I started. I
recognized Nan. She gripped the Rube with both hands and turned a
white, fearful face upon the angry crowd.

The Rube stood in the grasp of his wife and the policemen, and he
looked like a ruffled lion. He shook his big fist and bawled in
far-reaching voice:

"I can lick you all!"

To my infinite relief, the trolley gathered momentum and safely passed
out of danger. The last thing I made out was Nan pressing close to the
Rube's side. That moment saw their reconciliation and my joy that it
was the end of the Rube's Honeymoon.

THE RUBE'S WATERLOO

It was about the sixth inning that I suspected the Rube of weakening.
For that matter he had not pitched anything resembling his usual brand
of baseball. But the Rube had developed into such a wonder in the box
that it took time for his let-down to dawn upon me. Also it took a tip
from Raddy, who sat with me on the bench.

"Con, the Rube isn't himself today," said Radbourne. "His mind's not
on the game. He seems hurried and flustered, too. If he doesn't
explode presently, I'm a dub at callin' the turn."

Raddy was the best judge of a pitcher's condition, physical or mental,
in the Eastern League. It was a Saturday and we were on the road and
finishing up a series with the Rochesters. Each team had won and lost
a game, and, as I was climbing close to the leaders in the pennant
race, I wanted the third and deciding game of that Rochester series.
The usual big Saturday crowd was in attendance, noisy, demonstrative
and exacting.

In this sixth inning the f