save on rare occasions, the river path meets the angle of the Station
Road, where the coach makes its first turn. Then the path grows
indistinct, merges into a broad ten-acre plot whereon are the track,
gridiron, baseball ground, and the beginning of the golf links. This is
the campus. And here is Stony Bunker, and beyond it is the bluff and the
granite ledge; and lo! here we are back again at the point from which we
started on our journey of discovery; back to Outfield West and to the
boy in the ridiculous straw hat.




CHAPTER III.


OUTFIELD WEST.

It was several moments before West recovered his breath enough to speak,
during which time he sat and gazed at his rescuer in amazement not
unmixed with curiosity. And the rescuer looked down at West in simple
amusement.

"Thanks," gasped West at length. "I suppose I'd have broke my silly neck
if you hadn't given me a hand just when you did."

The other nodded. "You're welcome, of course; but I don't believe you'd
have been very much hurt. What's that thing?" nodding toward the
brassie, still tightly clutched in West's hand.

"A bras--a golf club. I was knocking a ball around a bit, and it went