that had gathered to watch the practice. He looked closer, and then
remembered where he had seen the boy before.

"Tell me, Stanley," he said to one of the fellows close by, "isn't
that Horace Bushnell, from Marshall? I seem to remember him playing on
their team when we took that game from them last summer."

"That's right, Jack, Horace it is," came the reply. "He played on
third, you may remember, and made some rattling good stops in the
bargain, that were ticketed for clean singles or even doubles. I was
speaking with him a bit ago. He says he's just dropped over to see
what's going on in old Chester, once asleep, but suddenly resurrected
since you came to town. You'll find Horace a pretty decent sort of
fellow, and built along the right lines too."

Jack sauntered over to where the boy was standing watching the
exciting melee just then taking place out there on the field, with old
Joe Hooker dancing and limping around like mad, shouting directions,
or blowing his referee's whistle to indicate that the ball was dead,
and that a fresh start must be made.

"Hello! Bushnell!" said Jack, extending his hand with that Free
Masonry that always exists among boys. "I thought I recognized you,
and asked if you didn't come from Marshall way. Took a notion to see
how we were getting along over here, did you? Well, we're making
progress, I suppose, but only for our luck in having such a cracker-
jack of a coach I'm afraid Chester wouldn't have much show on the
gridiron this season; because most of the boys were as green as grass
at the finer points of the game."