nto the ears of five hundred
thousand worshippers of the national game and would never be forgotten.

At sight of him I recalled a friend's baseball talk. "You remember Old
Well-Well? He's all in--dying, poor old fellow! It seems young Burt,
whom the Phillies are trying out this spring, is Old Well-Well's nephew
and protege. Used to play on the Murray Hill team; a speedy youngster.
When the Philadelphia team was here last, Manager Crestline announced
his intention to play Burt in center field. Old Well-Well was too ill
to see the lad get his tryout. He was heart-broken and said: 'If I
could only see one more game!'"

The recollection of this random baseball gossip and the fact that
Philadelphia was scheduled to play New York that very day, gave me a
sudden desire to see the game with Old Well-Well. I did not know him,
but where on earth were introductions as superfluous as on the
bleachers? It was a very easy matter to catch up with him. He walked
slowly, leaning hard on a cane and his wide shoulders sagged as he
puffed along. I was about to make some pleasant remark concerning the
prospects of a fine game, when the sight of his face shocked me and I
drew back. If ever I had seen shadow of pain and shade of death they
hovered darkly around Old Well-Well.

No one accompanied him; no one seemed to recognize him. The majority
of that merry crowd of boys and men would have jumped up wild with
pleasure to hear his well-remembered yell. Not much longer than a year
before, I had seen ten thousand fans rise as one man and roar a
greeting to him that shook the stands. So I was confronted by a
situation strikingly calculated to rouse my curiosity and sympathy.

He found an end seat on a row at about the middle of the right-field
bleachers and I chose one across the aisle and somewhat behind him. No
players were yet in sight. The stands were filling up and streams of
men were filing into the aisles of the bleachers and piling over the
benches. Old Well-Well settled himself comfortably in his seat and
gazed about him with animation. There had come a change to his massive
features. The hard lines had softened; the patches of gray were no
longer visible; his cheeks were ruddy; something akin to a smile shone
on his face as he looked around, missing no detail of the familiar
scene.

During the practice of the home team Old Well-Well sat still with his
big hands on his knees; but when the gong rang for the Philli