On Saturday rain descended in torrents from eight in the morning until well after eleven, and the first team’s trip to Minster to play the Minster High School team was abandoned. Although the rain ceased before noon the field was too wet for practice, and so first and second team players found themselves with an unexpected holiday confronting them. A few scrub nines did slip and paddle around on the diamonds that afternoon, but the regulars sought other forms of recreation. There was a Douglas Fairbanks picture at the movie theater, and, after Tom had excitedly broached the scheme, he and Clif and Loring――without Wattles in attendance――went. Tom pushed the wheel chair, and, fearing to be late, whizzed Loring along at a reckless clip, with Clif reminding him of the existence of such things as speed laws. Loring might well have experienced nervousness during that journey had it not been that the sidewalks for most of the way were practically deserted. In fact, the only person encountered between the entrance of East Hall and what Tom called “the heart of the metropolis” was Loring’s sallow and fascinating stranger. They passed him near the Inn, strolling imperturbably along with pipe in mouth, swinging his crook-handled cane. That tweed suit looked baggier about the knees than ever, but it still challenged criticism. As he passed he darted a twinkle of recognition at Loring before his gaze moved on to Tom, but made no other sign. For an instant Loring thought he was going to speak or at least nod, and he was disappointed when he didn’t. He turned eagerly to Clif for information, and Clif, who had recognized the passer-by, supplied what he could. “That’s Mr. Cooper,” said Clif. “Jack Cooper’s father. You know Jack.” Loring found the information disappointing, and his interest in the stranger waned. One simply couldn’t associate romance with the second nine’s catcher, round-faced, freckled and eminently commonplace. After a moment he asked: “Is he living here?” “Must be,” was the answer. “I saw him dining at the Inn more than a week ago.” “Oh,” said Tom, “is that the man your father pointed out? I remember him. But, listen, why doesn’t Jack look after him? I’ve seen him mooning around alone two or three times. He passed me on the drive the other day, and blamed if he didn’t look like he was downright lonesome!” Further pursuit of the subject was prevented by their arrival at the theater, but that evening, recalling it, Loring announced to Wattles: “Well, another mystery is solved, Wattles. That man we were wondering about turns out to be the father of one of the fellows, the heavy chap who plays catcher for the second team, Jack Cooper.” Wattles paused in the act of smoothing Loring’s light coat preparatory to putting it away and turned an expressionless countenance to the speaker. “He might be, sir,” he said after a space. “Might be! Hang it, Wattles, I’m telling you he is.” “Very good, sir.”