the Tecumseh, Canada, Club when he signed with us.

He was the possessor of a great slow ball and was always cool and
good-natured. As a batsman he was only fair, and as a fielder decidedly
careless. When it came to backing up a player "Goldy" was never to be
relied upon, and after the play was over and he was asked why he had not
done so, he would reply: "Oh, I'd a-bin thar ef I'd bin needed." But in
spite of this the fact remains that he was rarely on hand when he was
needed, and many an overthrown ball found its way into the field that
would have been stopped had he been backing up the basemen in the way
that he should have done.

I remember seeing him in a game at Troy, N. Y., once when pitching for
Chicago, when he was a sight to behold. He was playing and the rain was
coming down in torrents while the grounds were deep in mud and water.
Hatless, without shoes and stockings and with his breeches roiled clear
up to his thigh, as if he were preparing to ford the Hudson river,
"Goldy" was working like a Trojan, and I am not over sure but that he
was one at that time.

His arm was gone when he left us, and if he played ball any afterward,
it was only in desultory fashion. He tended bar in different places for
a time, but finally settled down to the business of market gardening
near Detroit, where, from all that I can learn, he is making a good
living.

Frank S. Flint, "Old Silver," originally hailed from St. Louis, where he
first came into notice as the back stop of an amateur team.

He came to us direct from the Indianapolis Club, where he had been
engaged in catching the delivery of "the only Nolan," who was at that
time one of the most celebrated of the League pitchers. He was a fine
ballplayer, a good, hard worker, but a weak batter, batting being his
weakest point. He was generally reliable, and that in spite of the fact
that he was a hard drinker, the love of liquor being his besetting
weakness. A pluckier man never stood behind a bat, there never coming a
ball his way that was too hard for him to handle, or at least to attempt
to. In "Old Silver's" day the catcher's glove had not come into use, and
all of his work was done with hands that were unprotected. Those hands
of his were a sight to behold, and if there is a worse pair to-day in
the United States, or a pair that are as bad, I should certainly like to
have a look at them. His fingers were bent and twisted out of all shape
and looked more like the kno