Having proved at some length, and conclusively in his own opinion, why it was imperative for the nine to give him the position of second baseman, Tom brought his remarks to a triumphant end. Whereupon two things happened almost simultaneously. The gong out in the corridor clanged, giving notice that study hour in assembly hall was imminent, and the door of Loring’s room opened and Wattles appeared. CHAPTER III CANDIDATES FOR THE NINE Rather hard luck for you, after listening to prosy descriptions of Clif, Tom and Loring, to have Wattles come on the scene! But Wattles may be disposed of more briefly. Wattles was about thirty, tall, rather lacking in flesh, with pale brown eyes――a sort of parchment brown they were――a long nose and a retiring chin. Wattles was English. That is to say he had been born in England, and, although he had spent the last ten years in this country and no longer owed allegiance to the King, he was still――and always would be――English in everything save the right to vote! Wattles acted as nurse, valet, companion, secretary and in numerous other capacities for Loring. He was so eminently respectable that Tom, when in his society, felt positively raffish. Wattles wore black on all occasions and never appeared without his square-crowned black derby. When he walked to church in the village on Sunday morning he encased his capable hands in dark-gray gloves, carried his prayerbook and hymnal and looked far more sacerdotal than the minister himself. Tom frequently declared that Wattles was “a scream and a bully sort.” As to that the reader may judge for himself later. Wattles’ present return was to prepare Loring for study hour, and after the visitors had hurried away to their respective rooms for their books he proceeded methodically to his task. Loring was carefully lifted from the arm chair in which he had been seated to the wheel chair. Then Wattles selected the proper books from the table, together with a scratch pad and a fountain pen, and laid them on a shelf that stretched in front of Loring from one arm of the chair to the other. The rug was laid across the boy’s knees and lightly tucked into place. After which, with a final glance around, Wattles said: “Right, sir?” “Right-o,” replied Loring, and Wattles laid hold of the handle-bar across the back and propelled the chair through the door and along the corridor to where, at the farther end, wide portals gave a glimpse of the big hall. En route Loring said: “Wattles, I wish you’d look around when you go back to the library and see what you can find about baseball. There are probably some books there. Bring what you can, will you?” “Baseball, Mr. Loring. Right, sir.” “Yes. I suppose you don’t know much about that game, do you, Wattles?”