Aaron commenced to explain the game. To say that the object of _Mosch Balle_ is for a member of the outer, offensive, team to strike an inner, defensive man with the ball is inadequate; such an explanation is as lacking as to explain baseball as the pitcher's effort to throw a ball so well that it's hittable, and so very well that it yet goes unhit. Both games have their finer points. "Now," Aaron told his guests on the field, "we four on the corners will toss the ball back and forth amongst ourselves, shouting _Hah_,_Oh_,_Tay_, with each pitch. Whoever has the ball on _Tay_ has to fling it at one of the two men inside the square. If he misses, he's Out; and one of the other men on our team takes his place. If he hits his target-man, the target's Out, and will be replaced by another man from the Sarki's team. The team with the last man left on the straw wins the first half. _Des iss der Weeg wie mir's diehne_, O.K.?" "_Afuwo!_" the Sarki yelled, a woman's call, grinning, crouched to spring aside. "Hah!" Aaron shouted, and tossed the ball to Waziri's older brother, Dauda. "Oh!" Dauda yelled, and threw the ball to the shoemaker. "Tay!" the cobbler exulted, and slammed the ball at the lower-ranking of the two men within the square, the village banker. The shoemaker missed, and was retired. The Daturans were soon stripped down to trousers and boots, their black torsos steaming in the cold air. Aaron removed his shirt--but not his hat--and so far forgot his Hausa in the excitement that he not only rooted for his teammates in _Pennsylfawnisch Deitsch_, but even punctuated several clumsy plays with raw _Fadomm_'s. Aaron's skill won the first half for his team. Blooded, the Chamber of Commerce Eight fought through to win the second half. A tie. The play-off saw the Working-Man's League pummeled to a standstill by the C-of-C, who took the laurels with a final slam that knocked Waziri into the straw, protesting that it was an accident. Sweating, laughing, social status for the moment forgotten, the teams and their mobs of fans surged into the farmhouse to demand of Martha wedges of raisin pie and big cups of strong coffee. As the guests put their rigas and their white caps back on, and assumed therewith their game-discarded rank of class, they assured Aaron that the afternoon at the ball game had been a large success. * * * * *