as to keep the Donohue family in
Chester. Well, here's hoping you strike luck, Jack. If you do I'll be
the happiest boy in Chester tonight, and ready to pitch my arm off
Saturday so as to bring another Harmony scalp home."

They shook hands heartily, and then Jack scurried away. It was one of
his cardinal principles never to delay when he had anything of
importance on his hands. So a short time later he entered one of the big
hives of industry that was managed by Mr. Charles Taft, a middle-aged
gentleman who seemed greatly interested in the rise of boys' sports in
Chester, and who had already favored Jack on several occasions.

It was partly through his generosity that the team had been able to
secure suits and outfits in the way of bats, balls, bases, and such
things, when the season began. More than that, it was this same Mr. Taft
who had gladly agreed to let one of his workers have an occasional
afternoon off duty when his services were required to coach the
struggling ball players, sadly in need of professional advice and
encouragement.

When the boy was ushered into his private office, the stout gentleman
held out his hand, and smiled pleasantly. He was a great and constant
admirer of Jack Winters, because he could read frankness, honesty,
determination to succeed, and many other admirable traits in the boy's
face. In fact, Mr. Taft had been quite an athlete himself when at
college, and his interest in clean sport had never flagged even when he
took up serious tasks in the business world.

"Glad to see you, my boy," he observed, in his customary genial fashion,
as he squeezed Jack's hand. "What can I do for you today? How is the
team getting along after that glorious game you played? No press of
business is going to prevent one man I know of in Chester from attending
the game next Saturday. I hope you are not in any trouble, Jack?"

Evidently his quick eye had noted the slight cloud on the boy's face, an
unusual circumstance in connection with the captain of the nine.

"Yes, I am in a peck of trouble, sir," candidly confessed Jack. "The
fact of the matter is it looks as though, we might be short our
wonderful young pitcher, Alec Donohue, next Saturday."

"How's that, Jack?" demanded the gentleman, anxiously. "I'm greatly
interested in that lad's work. He certainly has the making of a great
pitcher in him. Why, if we lose Donohue, I'm afraid the cake will be
dough with us, for I hear Hendrix is in excellent s