Ginger never confided about Cecil, but the story reached Babe and the rest eventually by way of Cicero Brutus Robinson, who, it appeared, had learned it from the deposed Cecil. Ginger had accosted Cecil a block short of the latter’s domicile and had frankly informed him that he, Ginger, coveted the position of bat boy for the school baseball team. “You,” said Ginger, though possibly in not these exact words, “are not equal to the demands of such an exacting employment. It is evident to me that your heart is not in your work. Now I’ll tell you what I’ll do, kid. I’ll match you for it.” Cecil, however, had indignantly declined this offer; had, indeed, heaped derision on Ginger and his ambition. Thereupon Ginger, retaining his placidity, had made a second offer. “All right, kid, I’ll pay you for it. I’ll give you fifty cents, twenty-five cents right now and twenty-five cents next week.” Cecil had considered this offer more tolerantly, but had countered with a proposal of one dollar in lieu of the sum named. Ginger had firmly refused to pay a dollar and had so reached his third and final proposition. “Nothing doin’,” Ginger had replied, “but――” and one fancies a new enthusiasm in his tones――“but I’ll fight you for it, kid!” Cecil had regarded Ginger dubiously as the latter slipped out of his jacket, had cast anxious glances up and down the deserted, darkening street and had seen the wise course. “Give me the quarter,” said Cecil. As Official Bat Boy and Mascot of the Holman School Baseball Team, Ginger made good right from the start. He was, in fact, a revelation. None of the players had before realized just how useful a bat boy could really be when he set his mind on it. Ginger was efficiency itself. The water pail was always full, the paper drinking cups never gave out, the balls no longer got lost merely by falling outside the field, bats always reposed in orderly precision before the bench and never a player had to bend his august back to pick one up. Ginger invariably knew which one――or two――each batsman favored and was ready with it, or them, on the second. He was always cheerful, always the optimist, always hopeful to the last bitter moment of defeat. When a hit meant a run and a run meant a tied score or a victory Ginger believed, or professed to, that the hit was forthcoming. Even if it was the weakest batter, Ginger gave him his favorite bat with a smile of confidence and a low word of encouragement that seldom failed to help.