Then, with the squad trimmed down to the number at which it would remain throughout the season, a week or more of hard, strenuous work ensued. A new infielder had to be broken in by his veteran comrades to the finer intricacies of the game. New signals were devised and perfected. Various pitchers were tried out, one after the other, in a full nine-inning game, and their condition studied by the astute manager. The batting order was decided on. In fact, everything was done which could be done in preparation for that great occasion to which many thousands of enthusiastic fans had been looking forward so ardently――opening day. It came at last, with its tricky April breezes giving the lie to cloudless skies and brilliant yellow sunshine. There were the same joyous, pushing crowds, the same blaring bands. Some of the men had heard them many, many times before; but even they, though they might dissemble and pretend a careless nonchalance, were conscious, nevertheless, of that indescribable, irresistible thrill which they had always felt, and would continue to feel to the end of time――their time. Their opponents were the Terriers, an organization of scrappy players who had fairly won their name. The fans got the worth of their money in a snappy game which was not decided till the ninth inning, and then only by an infielder’s error, which let in the single tally made that day. The second game was lost by the Hornets; but they made up for it by having a streak of hitting in the third contest, and hammering out six runs to their opponents two. It was during this last game that Brennan tried out his cub pitcher, Bert Elgin, for a couple of innings, and was so pleased with the showing made by the youngster that he determined to put him on the slab two days hence when they met the Blue Stockings for the first time that season. “I’m going to take a chance with him, and do the unusual thing,” the manager confided to Jack Stillman while talking it over afterwards, as he had a way of doing with this particular reporter. “I need a youngster to work now and then until the old men get their wings well oiled up, and I’ve _got_ to take the chance. I’m banking on Elgin.” “Hum!” muttered Stillman. The manager detected the doubt in Stillman’s mind. “You’ll have to allow that he’s shown form and class for a youngster.” The newspaper man shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll admit that, all right,” he returned. “Still, that doesn’t prove him Cy Russell’s equal, for instance.” “Did I say he was? All the same, I wouldn’t be surprised if he pushed Cy pretty hard one of these days. What you got against him, anyhow? He’s speedy, and he’s got a fine change of pace. He’s brainy, too, that boy.” Stillman raised his eyebrows. “Well?” he drawled. “Well, what?” retorted Brennan. “What more do you want than speed, and control, and brains?” “Sand,” the reporter said succinctly.