“All right,” said Mr. Clinton. “Now we ought to get things fixed up so that we can arrange dates with Wickasaw and the other nines. There will be the Mount Pleasant team to deal with, and I suppose there will be a nine at the Inn as usual. And I guess we can arrange some games with the Camp Trescott fellows. I propose to supply bats and balls and such things, as I did last year. We’ll need one new base-bag, too.” “I think that one can be fixed up all right, sir, with some sawdust, and a piece of canvas to patch it with,” said Bob. “Well, we’ll have a look at it. If it can’t, we’ll send for a new one. We’ll have to have some balls and bats, anyhow. We’ve got two masks and a protector left from last summer. Is there anything else?” “We ought to have some mitts,” said Carter. “Seems to me the fellows ought to buy those themselves,” Dan announced. “Well, I’ll get some,” said the Chief. “If any one wants to have his own, he can. Now, how about choosing a captain? Shall we do that here to-night, or had you rather wait?” “To-night!” “Now!” were the cries. “Very well; suppose you nominate your candidates, and we’ll have a rising vote.” Much laughter and whispering ensued. Then Dan was on his feet. “Mr. Clinton,” he began. “Mr. Chairman,” some one corrected. “And gentlemen of the convention,” added Mr. Verder. “Who’s making this speech?” asked Dan good-naturedly. “Mr. Clinton, I nominate Bob Hethington.” Applause followed. “He’s as good a player as any of us; he was here last year, and knows the ropes, and he--he’s a good fellow for the place.” “I second the nomination!” cried Nelson. Three other nominations followed, among the candidates being Joe Carter and Dan himself. The latter promptly withdrew in favor of Bob, and when the voting was over, Bob, in spite of half-hearted protestations, was declared elected. Thereupon Carter moved that the election be made unanimous, and it was. “Babe” Fowler was elected official scorer, an honor which quite overwhelmed him for the moment, and Mr. Verder was appointed manager. He and Bob were to get together at once and arrange dates, issue challenges, and start things moving generally. A call for candidates was issued on the spot, that constituting Bob’s speech of acceptance, and it was decided that practise should be held every week-day afternoon, when there were no games, at four o’clock. “It seems to me,” said Mr. Verder, “that the best way to get good practise is to have some one to play against. Couldn’t we form a scrub team to play against the camp nine? We’ve got plenty of fellows here.” “That’s a good plan,” said the Chief. “And you and I’ll join it.” “And the Doctor,” some one suggested. Whereupon there was a laugh, and the Doctor begged to be excused. “I tell you what I will do, though,” he said; “I’ll umpire.” “All right!” they called. “Kill the umpire!” shouted Dan. “And I’ll get even with you, Mr. Clinton,” threatened the Doctor. “You’ll never see first when I’m umpiring!”