``We're about due for the brace. When it comes
--look out! As for me, well, my arm isn't right,
but it's acting these warm days in a way that tells
me it will be soon. It's been worked too hard.
Can't you get another pitcher? I'm not knocking
Herne or Cairns. They're good for their turn,
but we need a new man to help out. And he must
be a crackerjack if we're to get back to the lead.''

``Where on earth can I find such a pitcher?'' I
shouted, almost distracted.

``Well, that's up to you,'' replied Radbourne.

Up to me it certainly was, and I cudgeled my
brains for inspiration. After I had given up in
hopelessness it came in the shape of a notice I
read in one of the papers. It was a brief mention
of an amateur Worcester ball team being shut
out in a game with a Rickettsville nine. Rickettsville
played Sunday ball, which gave me an opportunity
to look them over.

It took some train riding and then a journey
by coach to get to Rickettsville. I mingled with
the crowd of talking rustics. There was only one
little ``bleachers'' and this was loaded to the
danger point with the feminine adherents of the
teams. Most of the crowd centered alongside and
back of the catcher's box. I edged in and got a