o-day that to him the ball players owe even now a debt of
gratitude that can never be repaid.

CHAPTER XIV. THE CHAMPIONS OF THE EARLY EIGHTIES.

The team that brought the pennant back to Chicago in the early '80s was
a rattling good organization of ball players, as the "fans" who remember
them can testify, and while they were the cracks of that time, and
perhaps as strong a team as the League had seen up to that date, yet
they were not as strong either as a team or as individual ball players
as the team that represented Chicago several years afterward. The secret
of the club's success in those days lay in its team work, and in the
fact that a goodly portion of the time was spent in studying and
developing the fine points of the game, which long practice made them
fairly perfect in. There were one or two weak spots in its make-up, but
so well did it perform as a whole that these weak spots were quite apt
to be lost sight of when the time for summing up the result of the
season's play had arrived.

In its pitching department the team was particularly strong at that time
as compared with some other of the League clubs.

Larry Corcoran, upon whose skill great reliance was placed, was at that
time in the zenith of his glory as a twirler. He came, if my memory
serves me rightly, from somewhere in the neighborhood of Buffalo. He was
a very little fellow, with an unusual amount of speed, and the endurance
of an Indian pony. As a batter he was only fair, but as a fielder in his
position he was remarkable, being as quick as a cat and as plucky as
they made them.

A sort of an all-around sport was Larry, and a boxer of no mean ability.
I remember a set-to that he had one night in the old club house with
Hugh Nichols, in which he all but knocked Hughy out, greatly to that
gentleman's surprise, as he had fancied up to that time that he was
Corcoran's master in the art of self-defense.

After his release by the Chicago Club he drifted back East, where he
pitched for a time in some of the minor leagues. Later on he was given
another trial by the Chicagos, but his work proved unsatisfactory, he
having outlived the days of his usefulness in the pitching line. After
that he again went East, where he died several years ago.

Fred Goldsmith, the other pitcher, was a great big, over-grown,
good-natured boy, who was always just a-going to do things that he
never did. He, too, came from the East, and was, I believe, pitching
for