A minor-league baseball manager received a letter from a young player who gave an unabridged and highly flattering account of the author’s ability to make good in any company. Also he declared he could hit ’em harder and higher and farther than Babe Ruth ever did. It so happened that the manager was very much in need of a utility player but the young man had neglected to say whether he was a pitcher, catcher, infielder or outfielder. He answered the letter, inquiring what position the prospective phenomenon played. A reply came back accompanied by a snapshot of a youth in uniform, crouched and apparently awaiting the arrival of a grounder. “You can see by the inclosed photograph,” wrote the young man, “that I play in a stooping position, with one hand on each knee.” § 358 No Detail to Be Overlooked It was the last night of the revival meeting. The evangelist was going strong. His subject was eternal damnation. With all the eloquence at his command, he urged the congregation to flee from the wrath to come. “Ah, my friends,” he exclaimed, “on that last dread day there will be weeping, and wailing, and gnashing of teeth!” In a rear pew stood up an elderly woman. “Elder,” she said tremulously, “I ain’t got no teeth.” “Madam!” he shouted back, “teeth will be provided!” § 359 At the Extreme Rear Up toward Chateau Thierry in the big shove of 1918, a brigade commander of the A. E. F., temporarily separated from his staff, was making a sort of private reconnaissance toward the front. It was night-time. Directly ahead of him, he knew, was a negro infantry regiment, now under fire for the first time. All at once he encountered a straggler. Perhaps it would be unfair to refer to this person as a straggler, for he was giving a spirited imitation of a foot-racer. “Halt, there!” shouted the outraged brigadier. The fleeing private slowed up. “What do you mean by running away in this disgraceful manner?” “Boss,” quavered the black man, “I ain’t been aimin’ to run away, but these yere feets of mine jest natchelly carried me out of dat mess up yonder.” “Well, you face about and rejoin your company immediately.” Reluctantly the unhappy soldier reversed himself and started to obey. Then he hesitated and over his shoulder he put a question: “Who is you, to be givin’ me dese yere awders? You ain’t no cap’n, is you?” “I am the general commanding this brigade—that’s who.” “Lawsy me!” quoth the darky, half to himself. “I sho’ must a’ run a long ways to git clear back to where the gene’ls stay!” § 360 He Knew Where to Find Paw