e distance from the rest of the
team; and this telegram conveyed the cheering information, that, instead
of coming over, they had come down with mumps, and were, in point of
fact, in their little beds."

"Oh, what a shame!" said Margaret. "Poor lads! and mumps are such a
distressing thing."

"I rejoice to see that you also get your singular and plural mixed in
regard to mumps," said Gerald. "You are human, after all. But to tell
the truth, I don't know that sympathy with the mumpers was the
prevailing sentiment at the Corners."

"Gee! I should think not," said Phil. "This was the match of the season,
you see, Margaret. The farmers had come from far and near, and brought
their wives and babies; and the Corner fellows had got this gorgeous
uniform made, and bought out all the red flannel in the county; and here
were these two wretched chumps down with mumps."

"Oh! but Phil," cried Margaret, "they didn't do it on purpose, poor
things; and think how they were suffering! You are heartless, I think."

"They would have suffered more if the Baked Beans had got hold of them,"
said Phil, with a grin; "or the other fellows either, for that matter.
But as it turned out, it was the best thing that could have happened for
the Beans. He wasn't much of a pitcher."

"What do you mean?" asked Willy, beginning to be interested. "Did they
get another pitcher?"

"Did they? Well, I should remark! I let on in a casual way that the
former pitcher of a certain college team was not more than a hundred
miles from the spot at that moment. You should have seen that fellow's
face, Margaret. It really was a study. Perfect bewilderment for a
minute, and then--well, I believe he would have gone down on all fours
and carried Jerry to the field if he would not have gone in any other
way."

"Oh! please, Phil. I am bewildered, too. Is Gerald a--a pitcher?"

"Is he? My child, he is the great original North American jug."

"Oh, pooh!" said Gerald. "Don't be an ass, Ferguson! You are as good a
first-baseman as I am pitcher, any day. Of course we were glad to help
them out, though I drew the line at scarlet breeches. My mother's angry
shade hovered above me and forbade.

"'Go fight in fortune's deepest ditches,
But oh, avoid the scarlet breeches!'

I could hear her say it. So I told him that my hair and my temper were
the only red I ever wore, and he submitted, though sadly. So we played;
and it was a great game. And we smote