Mollie Skinner and her two chums sat there in the front row of the grandstand where they could have an uninterrupted view of everything that took place. They had come over very early, just to secure these splendid seats, sacrificing their customary warm lunch, it seemed, for each of them had brought a "snack" along, which they had calmly devoured while waiting for the crowds to assemble. They felt amply repaid, however, for they found themselves envied by many who came later, and could not find a vacant seat. From where they sat they could watch the two teams as they stood in clumps and chatted and laughed, doubtless trying to appear quite unconcerned, for they knew how a myriad of critical eyes must be focused on them just then. "Well, what do you think of the boys now, Mollie?" demanded Lucy Marsh, upon noticing that the little girl with the clever tongue was observing the players critically. "I tell you what's bothering me," Mollie hastened to say. "It's that Big Bob Jeffries." "Why, what ails him?" asked Adelaide in turn. "I always thought Bob Jeffries was to be depended on any time he was needed. Remember how he played in those ball games, and with never an error. Yes, and didn't he knock out more than a few dandy two-baggers, with men on bases? Why should you be worried about him, Mollie?" "Really I don't know," came the puzzling reply; "only I've heard several people say they didn't believe Big Bob could be feeling himself. He's been acting queer lately. Even Fred Badger admitted that to me when I quizzed him, though he hastened to say that so far it hadn't seemed to interfere with his playing, for he kept holding his own right along. But something seems to tell me that if we lose this game today it's going to be through some bungling play on his part." "Listen, Mollie," said Lucy just then, "don't speak quite so loud, because Bob's father and mother are just back of us, I've discovered." "Well, that's a queer thing," said Mollie, without even turning to look. "No one ever knew Mr. Jeffries to take the least interest in outdoor sports before. He must have waked up from his Rip Van Winkle sleep, apparently. I even heard that he declined to contribute a dollar to the new gymnasium that some of the town people are building to satisfy the craving of the boys for physical exercise, saying he guessed boys ought to be able to thrive without all those costly adjuncts; that as a boy he had never found the need for anything of the sort, and that he didn't mean to squander his hard-earned money on any such nonsense."