“We may not be able to treat you as well as you’re treating us, Scovill,” said Mr. Langham, “but we’ll do our best.” After the second table had been fed the fellows made friends quickly and, in groups of from two or three to a dozen, went over the camp and explored the trails that wound up the mountain. Shortly after dinner a powerful roadster automobile shot into sight up the road with a hoarse shriek of its horn and came to a stop in front of the camp. Mr. Scovill, excusing himself, walked across and shook hands with the man who had leaped nimbly out and brought him over to the group of councillors. He was a solidly built, broad-shouldered, and deep-chested man of about thirty-three or four, with a sunburned face, a boyish eagerness of manner, and a jovial laugh. There was something very winning in that laugh. “Langham,” said Mr. Scovill, “I want you to know Mr. York. Mr. York is a neighbour of mine and has a small place of a few thousand acres just below here. He has very kindly consented to umpire for us if that is agreeable to you. Mr. York, Langham is Director of The Wigwam Camp, at Indian Lake.” “Temporarily removed to Mount Placid,” laughed Mr. Langham as he shook hands. “We’ll be pleased to have Mr. York officiate this afternoon. Very kind of him, I’m sure, to accept such a thankless task.” “Not at all. I’m going to enjoy it,” responded Mr. York, shaking hands with the visiting councillors. “I used to play a bit myself. You have a fine day for your visit, Mr. Langham.” The group seated themselves on the steps and Mr. York, observing Sam closely, said: “I’ve seen you somewhere before, haven’t I, Mr. Gray?” “Craig is the name,” corrected Mr. Scovill. Sam, surprised, shook his head doubtfully. “I don’t think so,” he replied. “I live in Amesville, Ohio.” “Amesville! Of course! Thought I wasn’t mistaken.” Mr. York smiled in satisfaction. “I’ll tell you where I saw you, Mr. Craig, and how. It was about three months ago. I stopped off at Amesville to see a friend of mine, John Holden. Perhaps you know him?” Sam shook his head. “Well, he’s a newcomer in Amesville; practising law; a nice chap. You ought to meet him. When you go home drop into his office some day and tell him John York said you were to be friends. You’ll like him and he will like you.” Sam murmured rather embarrassed thanks. “It happened to be a Saturday and Johnny and I, having nothing better to do, jumped on a car and went out to see the high school team play ball with some visiting nine; forget who the other chaps were. Johnny used to play shortstop when I was catching for Warner College, and we’re both fans. So we went out and saw that game. It was a good one, too. You were catching for the Amesville team, Craig.” Mr. York paused for corroboration and Sam nodded. “You fellows won. You had a pitcher who had grey matter under his cap. Had a lot on the ball, too. What was his name?” “Pollock, sir.”