that his knowledge of
the art was sadly deficient. They all had a try at it, eventually, while
Sid stood by with a sarcastic grin on his face and watched their futile
efforts.

The next noon, John walked home with Louise, a custom sadly broken since
the baseball season had begun, and passed a stockily built lad who was
bouncing a baseball against the side of a house but a few doors from the
Martin's apartment. On the way back, he stopped to watch. The newcomer
returned his stare with equal interest.

"'Lo," said John, as he walked nearer.

"'Lo," said the boy with an ingratiating smile.

"My name's John Fletcher."

"Mine's Francis Yager," spoken with equal curtness.

"Live here?" asked the first baseman of the "Tigers." The boy admitted
that such was the case. "There's my house," explained John, pointing
with an inkstained finger.

There was an awkward silence. Francis bounced his ball against the side
of the house a few times.

"Ever play baseball?" asked John, as the boy made a difficult catch of
an erratic return from a drain pipe. The newcomer turned, his face
lighted with interest.

"Just bet you!" he beamed. "Back home we had a team and I played--"

"Pitcher?" asked John, breathlessly. The new boy nodded. Truly the fates
were proving kind to the "Tigers" that day.

"What can you throw?"

"An 'in,' and an 'out,' and a 'slow ball.'" The expert paused in the
summary of his attainments. "Last year, I was just getting so's I could
pitch a drop. But it didn't work very well."

Dinner, maternal lectures, all were forgotten as John poured out the
tale of the "Tigers'" woes to his new friend. Arm in arm, they made
their way up to Silvey's house. That catcher tried out the new recruit,
while John watched eagerly, and pronounced him all and more than he had
claimed for himself.

"We'll fix the 'Jeffersons' now," John shouted confidently. "You can
hold 'em, Francis, old boy."

He marched the new member over the tracks to the ball grounds, that
afternoon, and introduced him to the delighted team. Sid heard Silvey's
tale of the pitcher's prowess with ill-disguised resentment.

"He can play in the outfield," he said shortly. "I'm going to do it
myself."

"You!" shrieked John.

"Yes, me!"

"You couldn't hit the broad side of a barn with a baseball. Pitch! Only
reason we let you play at all last year was because--" He checked
himself suddenly. Sid only smiled.

"I'm captain," he replied, as John finishe