terness leave him. And he
watched that strange little yarn ball, with its wonderful skips and
darts and curves. The longer the game progressed and the wearier
Harris grew, the harder the Madden's Hill boys batted the ball and the
crazier it bounced at Bo and his sick players. Finally, Tay Tay Mohler
hit a teasing grounder down to Bo.

Then it was as if the ball, realizing a climax, made ready for a final
spurt. When Bo reached for the ball it was somewhere else. Dundon
could not locate it. And Kelly, rushing down to the chase, fell all
over himself and his teammates trying to grasp the illusive ball, and
all the time Tay Tay was running. He never stopped. But as he was
heavy and fat he did not make fast time on the bases. Frantically the
outfielders ran in to head off the bouncing ball, and when they had
succeeded Tay Tay had performed the remarkable feat of making a home
run on a ball batted into the infield.

That broke Natchez's spirit. They quit. They hurried for their bats.
Only Bo remained behind a moment to try to get his yarn ball. But Sam
had pounced upon it and given it safely to Daddy. Bo made one sullen
demand for it.

"Funny about them fast finishes of yours!" said Daddy scornfully.
"Say! the ball's our'n. The winnin' team gits the ball. Go home an'
look up the rules of the game!"

Bo slouched off the field to a shrill hooting and tin canning.

"Fellers, what was the score?" asked Daddy.

Nobody knew the exact number of runs made by Madden's Hill.

"Gimme a knife, somebody," said the manager.

When it had been produced Daddy laid down the yarn ball and cut into
it. The blade entered readily for a inch and then stopped. Daddy cut
all around the ball, and removed the cover of tightly wrapped yarn.
Inside was a solid ball of India rubber.

"Say! it ain't so funny now--how that ball bounced," remarked Daddy.

"Wot you think of that!" exclaimed Tom, feeling the lump on his head.

"T-t-t-t-t-t-t-ta-tr----" began Tay Tay Mohler.

"Say it! Say it!" interrupted Daddy.

"Ta-ta-ta-tr-trimmed them wa-wa-wa-wa-with their own
b-b-b-b-b-ba-ba-ball," finished Tay.

OLD WELL-WELL

He bought a ticket at the 25-cent window, and edging his huge bulk
through the turnstile, laboriously followed the noisy crowd toward the
bleachers. I could not have been mistaken. He was Old Well-Well,
famous from Boston to Baltimore as the greatest baseball fan in the
East. His singular yell had pealed i