he philanthropist, he
caught it readily with one hand.

"Well, well!" Eschenbach exclaimed. "I see you played ball already."

"Used to was shortstop with the Scammel Field Club," Kanef murmured.
"We was champeens of the Eighth Ward."

"Good!" Eschenbach cried. "Might we would got another ballplayer here?"

"Sure," Kanef replied, pointing to a short, thick-set presser who stood
grinning among the spectators. "That feller there, by the name Max
Croplin, he plays second base already."

"You don't say so!" Eschenbach exclaimed. "Well, supposing Max Croplin
catches and you pitch, understand me, and I would go on the bat and
give them fellers here a sample play already."

He threw the mask and mitt to Croplin, who proceeded to put them on
amid the murmured plaudits of his fellow workmen, while Eschenbach
seized the bat and planted himself firmly over the home plate.
Meantime, Kanef proceeded to the pitcher's box and, wiping his right
hand in the dirt, he struck a professional attitude that made
Eschenbach fairly beam with delight.

"Play ball!" the philanthropist yelled, and Kanef swung his arm in the
regular approved style.

The next moment the ball flew from his hand and, describing an
outcurve, grazed the tangent point of Eschenbach's waist-line into the
outstretched palm of Max Croplin.

"Strike one!" Eschenbach shouted. "You should please remember this is a
sample play only, and 'tain't necessary you should send 'em so fast."

Kanef nodded, while Croplin returned the ball; and this time Eschenbach
poised himself to knock a heaven-kissing fly.

"Play ball!" he cried again, and once more Kanef executed a pirouette
on the mound preparatory to pitching the ball. Simultaneously
Eschenbach stepped back one pace and fanned the air just as the
oncoming ball took a sudden drop. A moment later it landed squarely in
the pit of his stomach, and with a smothered "Woof!" he sank to the
ground.

"Oo-ee!" wailed the hundred operators with one breath, while Birsky and
Zapp ran wildly toward the home plate.

"Mr. Eschenbach," Birsky exclaimed, "_um Gottes willen!_ What did that
loafer done to you?"

"It's all right," Eschenbach gasped, struggling to his feet. "I ain't
hurted none, and in a regular game I would take my first base already."

"Well, take it here," Birsky said. "Don't mind us, Mr. Eschenbach--or
maybe you ain't got none _mit_ you."

He put his hand to his hip-pocket and drew out a pocket flask, which
Esch