"Jiminy," he mourned, as he squeezed the water out. "It's going to be an awful lot of work, fellows." They raked the sand level along the path from the plate to first base. Not by the wildest stretch of imagination could they seem to reach even a quarter of the distance, and protruding grass blades showed that the covering was far too scanty. "Where's your wagon, John?" asked Red Brown suddenly. "Busted," said John, reproachfully. "Have you forgotten?" During the summer preceding, a fever of wagon building had seized the boys. Every spare wheel and tricycle frame in the block had been requisitioned for the construction of a half-dozen little vehicles which suddenly appeared to scud down the sidewalks and over the smooth macadam street. There had been discussions and disputes as to speed, and John's wagon, a long, well-oiled affair with a coat of red, discarded house paint on its framework, had come to grief in a collision with Brown's, one sunny afternoon. Even Silvey, the optimist, who had furnished the motive power, had looked at the wreckage in well-founded despair. "Where's yours?" Red turned abruptly to the Harrison boys. "In the basement." Skinny Mosher's, too, was still in existence. All the rest of the morning and afternoon, the two wagons ran merrily toward the Southern Avenue sand hill, or creaked slowly and laboriously back to the "Tigers' Home Grounds," with such good effect that but a scant ten feet of path remained to be filled in when John's paper route called him. Silvey and he sauntered over that evening after supper to make the final inspection of the work. "Just like the park diamonds, isn't it?" he asked, as Silvey stretched a pair of weary arms. "And Sid said he was glad he thought of it. And we worked like everything while he stood around!" John scarcely heard him as he stood, eyes a-dream, looking over the even, carefully raked turf. "The grand stand comes next, Bill. Do you think we ought to tear down the shack for lumber?" Bill demurred. That shaky building occupied too great a place of importance in the boys' lives to justify such a sacrifice. Surely there were enough new buildings being erected in the neighborhood without that. Sid made an announcement on the following Monday which made the postponement of that last bit of construction work imperative. "Saw the captain of the 'Jeffersons,'" he beamed as the little group gathered about him on the baseball diamond. "We're going to play 'em this Saturday." "What?" John exploded. Sid nodded his head. "They've got the best team around," Silvey broke out. "And they've been practicing in the park ever since the snow melted. How can we lick 'em now?" Sid shrugged his shoulders aggravatingly. "Haven't you any brains at all?" John stormed. "I'm captain," Sid snapped back at the insurgents. "I'm running this team. If you don't like it, you can quit!"