Meeting him in the hall one morning, seated in a chair with his legs on another, Mr. Merrifield said: "I thought it was not an English custom, professor, to put your legs up at an angle of forty-five degrees? "My dear sir," replied Mole, "there is nothing in this country that an Englishman cannot do and has not done in his own land." "Can you drink whisky straight?" "Try me," said Mole, with a twinkle in his eye. "Can you play base-ball?" "I think so. The fact is, I am a good cricket player, and I see no reason why I should not play the emasculated game you call base-ball." "Well now," said Merrifield, "I'll give you an opportunity of showing what you can do in that direction." "How?" "A young gentleman living in the house with his parents, whose name is Morris Hart, is captain of the Blue Stockings, and that club is going to play the Red Stockings a match to-day." "Well?" "The Blues are short of one out of their nine. You shall take the place of the missing man, if you like." "I'll do it." "Mind," said Mr. Merrifield, "you have said you are a good base-ball player." "Did I say so?" "Yes, and if you lose the match through your bad play, we shall blame you." "I understand." "Of course," Mr. Merrifield continued, "I am not reflecting on your veracity. I know very well that an Englishman never blows. It is only an American that brags about his country and says he can whip all creation." "Well," replied the professor. "I don't mind repeating that I must be a good base-ball player, because it is a mild edition of what we call 'Rounders,' a game which small boys play and which cannot be spoken of in the same breath with cricket." "But base-ball is a dangerous game to play." "Oh! pshaw!" "People often get arms and legs broken." "Nonsense. You should see our swift round hand bowling. That would open your eyes a little." As the professor spoke a young man approached; he was tall, well formed and handsome. "Ah!" said Mr. Merrifield. "You are the very man I was looking for. Professor Mole, allow me to introduce my friend, Mr. Morris Hart." They bowed and shook hands. "Glad to know you, sir," said Morris. "I am proud and happy to reciprocate that sentiment, my young friend," replied Mr. Mole. "Morris," exclaimed Mr. Merrifield, "you are short of a man in your match with the 'Reds' to-day, I believe?" "We are, and I cannot find a substitute anywhere. Guess we shall have to play eight against nine." "No indeed. The professor volunteers to fill the vacant place." "Is that so?" replied Morris Hart. "I am real pleased to hear it, but--" "What?" "I don't want to disparage the professor's accomplishments. Yet I have always heard that the English did not understand our national game." Mr. Mole smiled disdainfully. "Child's play," he said. "What is?" "Base-ball." Morris Hart bridled up at this. "You won't find it so," he rejoined. "Not much," said Mr. Merrifield. "You bet your high monkey munk."