position just behind the stone that served as home
plate.

Hunting up a player in this way was no new
thing to me. I was too wise to make myself
known before I had sized up the merits of my
man. So, before the players came upon the field
I amused myself watching the rustic fans and
listening to them. Then a roar announced the
appearance of the Rickettsville team and their
opponents, who wore the name of Spatsburg on
their Canton flannel shirts. The uniforms of these
country amateurs would have put a Philadelphia
Mummer's parade to the blush, at least for bright
colors. But after one amused glance I got down
to the stern business of the day, and that was to
discover a pitcher, and failing that, baseball talent
of any kind.

Never shall I forget my first glimpse of the
Rickettsville twirler. He was far over six feet
tall and as lean as a fence rail. He had a great
shock of light hair, a sunburned, sharp-featured
face, wide, sloping shoulders, and arms enormously
long. He was about as graceful and had
about as much of a baseball walk as a crippled cow.

``He's a rube!'' I ejaculated, in disgust and
disappointment.