“I don’t see how they could stop us visiting the place, but they might object to our staying overnight. Here goes for a knuckle-ball, Sam. Watch it.” But the attempt was not successful and Tom shook his head as the ball came back to him. “I guess I’ll never make much out of that,” he said. “What’s that, Sam? Four fingers? I can’t see very well. All right, here she goes.” A slow ball sped across the imaginary plate and Sidney, making believe to swing and miss, uttered a disappointed grunt and angrily slanged a non-existent umpire, to the delight of the gallery. It was time to stop then, and, pocketing his ball, Tom accompanied Sam and Sidney to Main Street and, after Sidney had jumped a car to hurry home to dinner, detained Sam a minute on a corner. “Made up your mind yet?” he asked. Sam hesitated a moment. “Mother wants me to try for it,” he said, “and Nell, too, but I don’t know as I ought to leave them so long.” “Well, you know best, Sam. Only, if you can do it you’d better. You know as well as I do that there’s mighty little chance of a fellow’s getting work in Amesville in summer, except at the mills; and they don’t pay anything over there.” Sam nodded agreement. “I guess,” he answered thoughtfully, “I’ll write and see what Mr. Langham says. I suppose, though, he will tell me I’m too young.” “How would it do,” asked Tom, “to say nothing about your age? He didn’t seem particular about that, you know. Just tell him you’re in your senior year at high school and are captain of the nine; and that you think you could hold down the place to the King’s taste, and so on!” “I might, only--I’d feel pretty cheap if I got up there and he told me I wouldn’t do. Besides, it wouldn’t be quite honest, I guess.” “I suppose not. No, you’d better tell him you’re nearly eighteen.” “But I’m not,” objected Sam gravely. “I won’t be until December.” “Then tell him you’re well over seventeen,” laughed Tom. “Anyway, make yourself out as old as you can, you fussy old chump! And don’t be too modest. I don’t know but that I ought to see that letter before you send it, Sam.” Sam shook his head. “I’ll do it all right,” he said. “And you write to him, too, if you don’t mind.” “I’ll do it this evening. So long. You ought to get an answer by Friday, I should think. I hope it comes out all right, Sam.” “So do I,” said Sam soberly. “It would be a dandy job if I could get it. Good night, Tom, and thank you for telling me about it.” That wasn’t an easy letter to write, as Sam discovered later when, with the assistance of his mother and sister, he set about its composition. Nell, a pretty girl a year older than Sam, scored his first draft indignantly. “Why, you haven’t said a thing about what you can do,” she exclaimed. “You’ve just told him what you _can’t_! The idea of saying that you’re a fair swimmer! You know very well, Sam, that you’re a perfect wonder in the water.” “Pshaw, lots of fellows can swim better than I do.”