I can remember almost as well as if it were but yesterday my first experience as a ball player at Rockford. It was early in the spring, and so cold that a winter overcoat was comfortable. I had been there but a day or two when I received orders from the management to report one afternoon at the ball grounds for practice. It was a day better fitted for telling stories around a blazing fire than for playing ball, but orders were orders, and I obeyed them. I soon found that it was to test my qualities as a batsman that I had been ordered to report. A bleak March wind blew across the enclosure, and as I doffed my coat and took my stand at the plate I shivered as though suffering from the ague. This was partially from the effects of the cold and partially from the effects of what actors call stage fright, and I do not mind saying right now that the latter had more than the former to do with it. You must remember that I was "a stranger in a strange land," a "kid" both as to years and experience, with a knowledge that my future very largely depended upon the showing that I might make. Facing me was "Cherokee Fisher," one of the swiftest of the old-time underhand pitchers, a man that I had heard a great deal about, but whom I had never before seen, while watching my every move from the stand were the directors of the team, conspicuous among them being Hiram Waldo, whose judgment in base-ball matters was at that time second to no man's in the West, and a man that I have always been proud to call my friend. I can remember now that I had spent some considerable time in selecting a bat and that I was wondering in my own mind whether I should be able to hit the ball or not. Finally Fisher began sending them in with all the speed for which he was noted. I let a couple go by and then I slammed one out in the right field, and with that first hit my confidence came back to me. From that time on I batted Fisher successfully, but the most of my hits were to the right field, owing to the fact that I could not at that time successfully gauge his delivery, which was much swifter than anything that I had ever been up against. In after years a hit to right field was considered "the proper caper," and the man who could line a ball out in that direction at the proper time was looked upon as a most successful batsman. It was to their ability in that line of hitting that the Bostons for many years owed their success in winning the championship, though it took some time for their rivals in the base-ball arena to catch on to that fact. After that time I was informed by Mr. Waldo that I was "all right," and as you may imagine this assurance coming from his lips was a most welcome one, as it meant at that time a great deal to me, a fact that, young as I was, I thoroughly appreciated.