Monday turned out to be no sort of day on which to watch practice inactively, and Loring remained indoors save for a brief journey to the post office to mail some letters. By Tuesday noon, however, the chill east wind of the previous day had departed, and the wheel chair was rolled again to the second team field, being overtaken and passed on the way by a violently careening Ford from the seat of which Mr. Wadleigh waved a greeting. Practice was well along when Loring, from his accustomed place behind first base, saw Mr. Cooper enter the stand and, although row after row of empty benches intervened, make his way to a seat some two yards distant from the chair. Loring experienced a return of the former interest, despite the fact that the stranger was no longer a mystery, and quite brazenly smiled a greeting. Mr. Cooper smiled back and nodded. No, it was more than a nod, it was a very courteous bow. But the gentleman didn’t speak, and Loring, regretting his overture, turned his gaze hastily away. Some minutes passed during which the rap of bat against ball and the cries of the players constituted the only sound. Then, at last, a pleasant voice came from beyond the railing. CHAPTER VIII VACATION VISITS Across the diamond, Clif and Jack Cooper stood together in a group of five fellows waiting to bat, and Clif, turning his gaze away from a moment’s contemplation of Loring and Mr. Cooper conversing together, remarked: “Your father seems to like to watch practice, Jack.” The catcher turned an unapprehending face. “What did you say?” he asked. Clif repeated the observation and indicated the reason for it by a nod toward the first base stand. Jack’s gaze followed the direction of the nod, but still he seemed unable to grasp the significance of the remark. “My father?” he asked rather blankly. “Yes.” Clif was patient with him. “He’s over there talking to Loring Deane. Can’t you see him?” “Oh!” Jack looked again. Then he turned a puzzled regard on Clif. “That’s my father over there, is it?” “Well, isn’t it?” asked Clif in surprise. “Don’t recognize him, Clif.” Jack was grinning broadly. “But then he’s gone and lost about sixty pounds, if it is he, and it’s made a terrible difference in him!” “You mean Mr. Cooper isn’t――isn’t your father?” “Sure, Mr. Cooper’s my father, but I never saw that wampus before in my life! Go on and bat.” A few minutes later Jack sought Clif to ask: “Say, how’d you get it into your bean that that guy was my father?” Clif had to think a moment before he replied. Then: “I thought some one told me he was, but maybe I just faked it myself. You see, his name’s Cooper, and he’s staying at the Inn, and I thought of course――” “I’d like you to see my old man,” laughed Jack. “Just for the fun of it. He weighs close to two hundred, Clif.” “That’s mighty funny,” muttered the other. He was thinking of his mistake, but Jack misunderstood.