The fisherman shook his head. "A mite early, I guess."

"Oh, I don't know," John encouraged. "Come on, Sil, let's sit down and
watch. Maybe he'll catch something soon."

So the boys dangled their feet over the edge of the pier until the
lengthening shadows told that it was time to leave for home. They rose
regretfully and resumed the saunter along the broad walk with its many,
occupied benches. Down on the sand, children hazarded spring colds as
they fashioned hills and castles by the lake. Further along, an ardent
youth serenely disregarded photographic rules and pointed his kodak at a
group of laughing girls who stood between him and the setting sun. As
the boys left the park, they passed a group of gray-suited ball players,
which had been using one of the park diamonds near the golf links. John
watched them a minute.

"Most time for our team to get together again," he said.

Silvey nodded. "Sid was talking about it after the game of scrub the
other day. Wants to be captain this year."

John laughed scornfully. As Silvey well knew, he, himself, intended to
be re-elected to that important office. "Let's go home by the big lot
and see what it's like," he suggested.

A few minutes later they clambered over the shaky fence which separated
the field from the sidewalk and neighboring dairy pasturage. Silvey dug
his foot into the yielding turf, which had formed the scene of that
football scrimmage between the "Jeffersons" and the "Tigers."

"'Most dry enough to play on," he observed.

John nodded. The flat, white stone which had been used for a home plate
during the summer had been removed as a hindrance to the gridiron sport,
and the base lines which had been worn into the turf by frequent boyish
footsteps, were almost obliterated by the winter's debris and the rank,
quickening grass. Not an inspiring view by any means, yet John gazed
upon it in dreamy satisfaction.

"Let's make 'er a _real_ home grounds," he said suddenly. "Soon as it
gets drier, we'll bring our rakes over and get this stuff out of the
way;" he kicked a rusty tin can to one side. "Then we'll cut the grass
and make cinder base lines, and everything'll be just peachy."

Silvey beamed, enthralled as usual by John's fertile imagination.

"Then," went on John, as he retraced his steps to the walk, "we'll get
some lumber from new flat buildings and put up a grand stand and call it
'The Tigers' Baseball Park.'"

They halted some minutes later in fr