outskirts of the town was a little cottage that I
wanted to buy, and this depended upon the business
deal. My whole future happiness depended
upon the little girl I hoped to install in that
cottage.

Coming to the Worcester Eastern League team,
I had found a strong aggregation and an
enthusiastic following. I really had a team with
pennant possibilities. Providence was a strong
rival, but I beat them three straight in the opening
series, set a fast pace, and likewise set Worcester
baseball mad. The Eastern League clubs
were pretty evenly matched; still I continued to
hold the lead until misfortune overtook me.

Gregg smashed an umpire and had to be laid
off. Mullaney got spiked while sliding and was
out of the game. Ashwell sprained his ankle and
Hirsch broke a finger. Radbourne, my great
pitcher, hurt his arm on a cold day and he could
not get up his old speed. Stringer, who had
batted three hundred and seventy-one and led the
league the year before, struck a bad spell and
could not hit a barn door handed up to him.

Then came the slump. The team suddenly let
down; went to pieces; played ball that would have
disgraced an amateur nine. It was a trying time.
Here was a great team, strong everywhere. A