By Saturday outdoor conditions were better. The turf lost its sogginess, the base paths hardened and a chill wind no longer endangered overheated bodies. By Saturday, too, most of the restrictions had been removed and practice looked more like the genuine article. There was even a three-inning game that afternoon between the newly formed first and second squads, and, while no score was kept, there was plenty of hard playing. Tod Raiford, outfield candidate playing with the first squad, landed against one of Frost’s straight ones and hit it almost to the center of the football field for four bases. To be sure, second-squad members protested loudly that it had fallen foul, but since the foul-line flags had not yet been put into place they couldn’t prove it and Tod was given the benefit of the doubt. “Bi” Longwell, officiating as umpire from behind the pitcher, gravely proclaimed it fair, although since he had not left his position to judge its flight there were those impolite enough to say that he didn’t know anything about it. Cooper, catching for the second squad, good-naturedly offered to settle the question after practice, with or without gloves, but Bi threatened to fine him and Cooper subsided. Clif and Tom were allowed a few minutes of participation in that brief contest, but their appearance with the second, Clif in left field and Tom on third base, could not truthfully be said to add perceptible strength to the team. Of the two only Tom went to bat, and the best he could do was pop an easy foul to Catcher Cobham. Clif failed to distinguish himself by even that much, since the first team batsmen thoughtlessly failed to hit the ball anywhere near his position. Nevertheless both boys ended that week with increased ambition and enthusiasm. Also, it must be added, with decreased expectations of winning renown on the diamond. There was no doubt but that, viewed without prejudice, they were pretty small fry in the baseball sea. Tom pretended, however, to believe that as the season progressed those in command would discover his now concealed talent and install him at some post of honor on the big team, preferably second base. Clif, on the other hand, might easily have lost courage about that time and modestly withdrawn from competition had it not been for Tom and Loring. Tom’s argument was that you never could tell what was going to happen and that an epidemic or an earthquake or something equally devastating might any day wipe out a couple of handfulls of Clif’s rivals. “Then,” added Tom reasonably enough, “you’d be mighty sorry you didn’t stick!” Loring’s argument was that it would be the part of wisdom to stay with the squad just as long as he was allowed to stay and learn all he could so that next year, if not this, he would be all set to accept the captaincy or any other little job that might be lying around! Perhaps Clif’s own inclinations weighed more than advice, though, for, although