Jack had come across Donohue by accident, and apparently must have been struck with the amazing speed and control that the boy showed in his delivery. He had taken Alec under his wing from that day on, and coached him, with the assistance of old Joe Hooker, until he felt confident he had picked up a real wonder. Various comments were flying around, most of them connected with the newest member of the Chester team. "One thing I like about that Donohue," a rangy scout of the high school was saying to a companion wearing glasses, and looking a bit effeminate, though evidently quite fond of sport; "he acts as though he might be as cool as a cucumber. Those Harmony fellows in the crowd will do their level best to faze him, if ever he gets in a tight corner, and lots of things are liable to happen through a hard-fought game." "Oh! I asked Jack about that," observed the one with spectacles, "and he assured me the fellow seemed absolutely devoid of nerves. Nothing under the sun can bother him. He banks on Jack, and knows the captain has confidence in his work; so you'll see how all the jeering and whooping and stamping on the boards of the grand-stand will fail to upset him. Jack says he's an _iceberg_." "Glad to hear it, Specs. That kind of pitcher always has a big lead over the fellow who gets excited as soon as the enemy begins to lambast his favorite curves. The cool sort just changes his gait, and lobs them over between, so that he has the hard batters wasting their energy on the air long before the ball gets across the rubber." "Listen to all that whooping, Ernest; what's happening, do you think?" "Well, by the way they're standing up on the seats, and waving hats and handkerchiefs, I rather guess the Harmony players are coming along." His guess proved to be a true one, for a minute afterwards a big motor-stage entered the enclosure, and from it jumped a dozen or more athletic chaps clad in the spic-and-span white suits with blue stockings that distinguished the Harmony baseball team. Paying little or no attention to all the wild clamor, they ran out on the near field and commenced flinging several balls back and forth with astonishing vigor. From time to time the boys from the rival town would wave a hand at some enthusiastic friend who was trying to catch their eye from his position in the stand, or on the bleachers. The band had accompanied them aboard another vehicle. It now burst out with that same encouraging tune "Lo! the Conquering Hero Comes!" though the strains could hardly be heard above the roar of many lusty voices trying to drown each other out.