the reporters' boxes. She asked one of the youngsters on the field to
tell Mr. Sheldon that she would like to speak with him a moment.

Billie eagerly hurried from the players' bench with a look of surprise
and expectancy on his sun-tanned face. Madge experienced for the first
time a sudden sense of shyness at his coming. His lithe form and his
nimble step somehow gave her a pleasure that seemed old yet was new.
When he neared her, and, lifting his cap, spoke her name, the shade of
gloom in his eyes and lines of trouble on his face dispelled her
confusion.

"Billie, Pat tells me he's given you ten days' notice," she said.

"It's true."

"What's wrong with you, Billie?"

"Oh, I've struck a bad streak--can't hit or throw."

"Are you a quitter?"

"No, I'm not," he answered quickly, flushing a dark red.

"You started off this spring with a rush. You played brilliantly and
for a while led the team in batting. Uncle George thought so well of
you. Then came this spell of bad form. But, Billie, it's only a slump;
you can brace."

"I don't know," he replied, despondently. "Awhile back I got my mind
off the game. Then--people who don't like me have taken advantage of
my slump to----"

"To knock," interrupted Miss Ellston.

"I'm not saying that," he said, looking away from her.

"But I'm saying it. See here, Billie Sheldon, my uncle owns this team
and Pat Donahue is manager. I think they both like me a little. Now I
don't want to see you lose your place. Perhaps----"

"Madge, that's fine of you--but I think--I guess it'd be best for me to
leave Kansas City."

"Why?"

"You know," he said huskily. "I've lost my head--I'm in love--I can't
think of baseball--I'm crazy about you."

Miss Ellston's sweet face grew rosy, clear to the tips of her ears.

"Billie Sheldon," she replied, spiritedly. "You're talking nonsense.
Even if you were were that way, it'd be no reason to play poor ball.
Don't throw the game, as Pat would say. Make a brace! Get up on your
toes! Tear things! Rip the boards off the fence! Don't quit!"

She exhausted her vocabulary of baseball language if not her
enthusiasm, and paused in blushing confusion.

"Madge!"

"Will you brace up?"

"Will I--will I!" he exclaimed, breathlessly.

Madge murmured a hurried good-bye and, turning away, went up the
stairs. Her uncle's private box was upon the top of the grand stand
and she reached it in a somewhat bewildered state of mind. She