The subject of this discourse chose a seat high in the third base stand, and Loring’s opportunities for further observation were few since Loring and Wattles were well beyond first base and across the diamond. In the course of the five innings that ensued――the game went only to five since the first had a batting fest in the fourth and delayed matters――Loring forgot the interesting stranger. Recalling him again during supper, he decided to ask information of Tom and Clif, but other matters sidetracked his curiosity. On Friday the stranger again made his way along the length of the stand and again established himself close to where Loring’s chair was placed on the grass. Again, save for a gravely smiling glance of recognition on the stranger’s part, nothing passed between them. The man seemed to like to watch the practice, and yet Loring would have sworn that he was fairly ignorant of baseball; little puzzled frowns, momentary expressions of blankness convinced him of that. Once Loring caught Wattles observing their neighbor intently, and later he asked: “Well, solved the mystery, Wattles?” Wattles shook his head. “No, sir.” “Still think you’ve seen him before, though?” Wattles hesitated. Then he answered evasively: “Well, Mr. Loring, it’s hard to say. One encounters so many persons, sir. And sometimes a likeness deceives one, sir. Oh, very frequently.” “What I like especially in you, Wattles,” said Loring dryly, “is your frankness of speech, your――your communicativeness, I might say. One has only to suggest a subject to you, and you fairly burst into artless prattle. Nothing――er――secretive about you, eh, Wattles?” Wattles merely coughed.