tion boss ordered that shovels be
brought, and another day passed in transporting dirt and leveling the
obstructions off. Pail after pail of water was carried from the dairy
buildings to wet down and harden the new, loose earth, and it was
Saturday morning before the distances between the various bases and the
pitcher's box could be measured off.

"We'll start filling in the paths with cinders now," said John, as
Silvey drove a peg into the ground to mark the location of the home
plate.

"Won't they hurt when you slide on them?" drawled Perry Alford.

"But there's nothing else to use, is there?"

"They're starting a flat building next old lady Meeker's on Southern
Avenue," the boy suggested. "Why not get sand from there?"

John shot him a glance of approval and called to the team members.
"Everybody get a pail and meet at Silvey's," he concluded, as they
started for the railroad tracks.

"I'll sit here and watch the tools," said Sid, brazenly.

"Aren't you going to work at all?" broke out Silvey impatiently.

"Don't have to," was the unperturbed reply. "I'm the captain."

They left their nominal leader to do as he desired and scattered to
commandeer the various family buckets and fiber pails. Skinny, who lived
farthest from the Silvey's, came up at last with his utensil, and they
set off, single file, past Neighborhood Hall and the corner grocery
stores, and around to quiet, sedate Southern Avenue, beating a crude
marching rhythm on the tins as they went. At the sight of the ten-foot
sandhill which the excavations for the apartments had formed, John broke
into a run.

"Beat you there!" he shouted.

Away they went after him, pell-mell, and dashed up the yielding sides to
bury their pails deep in the golden particles. Silvey braced himself,
tugged his load free, and staggered along the walk for perhaps thirty
feet. John caught up with him and also halted for a rest.

At last they started again, but it was no light-hearted, carefree,
return trip for the "Tigers." The sand-filled buckets weighed too much
to be used as drums, and they retraced their steps slowly, dropping them
every few minutes to ease their aching wrists. In front of Neighborhood
Hall, Skinny found a blister on one of his hands.

"Think we'll ever get back?" he asked, despairingly.

"It isn't so far now," John encouraged him. "We've only got to go
another block before we turn. Then it's a half-block down to the hole in
the fence. Come on. I