"Wear rubbers," advised the captain. "The fellows need some fresh air, and they're going to get it. Be on hand, Sid?" "Sure. Now I've got to get a disagreeable job over with. Me for the doctor's office," and that was his only reference to the punishment meted out to him. He was required to do the usual number of lines of Latin prose, which was not hard for him, as he was a good scholar. Tom and Sid went to their lectures, the captain, on the way, calling to the various members of the team to be on hand at the diamond in the afternoon. Sid accomplished his sentence of punishment in the room, and after dinner the three chums, with a motley crowd of players, and lovers of the great game, moved over the campus toward the diamond. "Done anything about a manager?" asked Holly Cross, as he tightened his belt and began tossing up a grass-stained ball. "Not yet," replied Tom. "There's time enough. I want to get the fellows in some kind of shape. We won't play a game for a month yet--that is any except practice ones, and we don't need a manager to arrange for them. Whom have you fellows in mind?" "Ed Kerr," spoke Holly promptly. "He knows the game from A to Z." "I thought he was going to play," came quickly from Tom. "We need him on the nine." "He isn't going to play this season," went on Holly. "I heard him say so. He wants to save himself for football, and he says he can't risk going in for both. He'd make a good manager." "Fine!" agreed Tom, Sid and Phil. "Yes, but did you hear the latest?" asked Snail Looper, gliding along, almost like the reptile he was christened after. "What?" demanded several. "There's talk of Ford Fenton for manager," went on Snail. "What, Ford!" cried Tom. "He'd be giving us nothing all the while but 'my uncle says this' and 'my uncle used to do it that way'! No Ford for mine, though I like the chap fairly well." "Same here," agreed Phil. "We can stand him, but not his uncle," for, be it known, Ford Fenton, one of the sophomore students, was the nephew of a man who had been a celebrated coach at Randall in the years gone by. Ford believed in keeping his memory green, and on every possible, and some impossible, occasions he would preface his remarks with "My Uncle says" and then go on and tell something. It got on the nerves of his fellows, and they "rigged" him unmercifully about it, but Fenton could not seem to take the hint. His uncle was a source of pride to him, but it is doubtful if the former coach knew how his reputation suffered at the hands of his indiscrete youthful relative. "Who told you Fenton had a chance for manager?" asked Sid Henderson. "Why, Bert Bascome is his press agent." "Bascome, the freshman?" Phil wanted to know, and Snail Looper nodded. "Guess he didn't get all the hazing that was coming to him last fall," remarked Tom. "We'll have to tackle him again. Kerr is the only logical candidate for manager, if he isn't going to play."