ut of the way. He--"

But just then, the overtaxed patience of his auditors gave way and they
rushed in a body on Slim.

"I told you it would be that way," he complained, as he extricated
himself from the laughing mob. "It's casting pearls before swine to try
to tell you fellows the truth. You wouldn't want the truth, if I handed
it to you on a gold platter."

The rest of the passengers in the train, other than the Rally Hall boys,
looked on and listened with varied emotions. One or two had a sour
expression and muttered more or less about "those pesky boys," but by
far the greater number were smiling and showed a frank pleasure in the
picture of bubbling, joyous youth that they presented. It came as a
welcome interlude in the cares of life.

Fred had found a seat alongside a rather elderly man whose face radiated
good nature. When the train had gone ten miles or so, the stranger
entered into conversation.

"A jolly crowd you have here," he said, beaming. "I take it you're going
somewhere special. What's on for to-day?"

"We're going to play a game of ball with the Mount Vernon team, a little
way up the line," Fred smiled in return.

"Baseball, eh?" said the other with an evident quickening of interest.
"That's the king of sports with me. I used to play a lot in my time and
I've never got over my liking for it. I'd rather see a game than eat."

"It's a dandy sport, all right," assented Fred, with enthusiasm. "There
isn't anything in the world to equal it in my opinion, except perhaps
football."

"I don't know much about football," admitted the other. "I see a game
once in a while, but it always seems to me rather confusing. That's
because I don't know the rules, I guess. But I know baseball from start
to finish and from the time the umpire says 'Play ball!' until the last
man's out in the ninth inning, I don't take my eyes off the diamond."

"I suppose you have some great memories of the old days," remarked Fred.

"You're just right," said the stranger with emphasis. "I guess I've seen
almost all the great players who made the game at one time or another.
There were the old Red Stockings of Cincinnati, the Mutuals of New York,
the Haymakers of Troy, the Forest Cities of Rockford, that we boys used
to read and talk about all the time. We had our special heroes, too,
just as you have to-day.

"Of course," he went on, "the game has improved a great deal, like
everything else. The pitching is better now. My, h