in approaching the task at hand, nor wasted strength on conversation. Where dining was concerned Tom’s was a one-track mind! Clif and his father, however, found leisure for talking; leisure, too, to regard the other occupants of the big, sunny room and to exchange bows with a few of them. At a near-by table Walter Treat, his father and mother and a kid brother were dining. Several others of Clif’s acquaintances were also on hand, while, over by an open window, a thin, somewhat sallow-looking man who ate alone glanced up and nodded as he encountered Mr. Bingham’s eyes. “Rather an interesting chap I ran into this morning,” said Mr. Bingham, responding to Clif’s mute inquiry. “Cooper, I think his name is.” “There’s a Cooper on the scrub team,” answered Clif. “Jack Cooper. Maybe his father. Doesn’t look like Jack much, though.” “Probably is, however. At least, I gathered that he’s staying at the Inn more or less permanently. For that matter, son, you don’t look an awful lot like your dad.” “I don’t suppose I do,” said Clif. “I favor mother more, don’t I?” Mr. Bingham nodded, thoughtfully studying his son’s face. Tom, supposedly deaf, burst into speech. “Heck, Clif, you and your father are dead ringers, only you’ll never be as good looking as he is.” Mr. Bingham laughed. “Thanks, Tom,” he said. “I appreciate that even though I recognize it as rank flattery. When you reach forty you become grateful for any kind word.” “’S all right,” replied Tom stoutly. “I know what I’m talking about. When we came in here all the girls, and the old dames, too, began to sit up and take notice, and I’ll bet it wasn’t Clif that made ’em do it, nor me either!” Well, Mr. Bingham _was_ a fine-looking man, and if he was forty――or nearly forty――you’d never have suspected it. Clif was very proud of his father, and Tom’s compliment, even if a bit crude, pleased him. Looking about the room he saw that Mr. Cooper’s gaze was directed toward their table. The gaze was courteously but unhurriedly withdrawn the next instant, and Clif tried to discover a resemblance between the lean, pleasantly grave countenance and the round, freckled face of the second nine catcher, and failed. Probably Jack Cooper, too, took after his mother, he reflected. After dinner, while Mr. Bingham smoked a short cigar on the porch before taking his guests to ride, Walter Treat brought his father and mother up and there were introductions all around. When they had presently departed Mr. Bingham looked about searchingly. “Wonder where that Cooper chap is,” he said. “Told him I’d like to have him meet you, son, and he seemed quite anxious to. But he doesn’t appear to be about.”