Nor did it take old Jack long to perceive that the arrangement of the team, as well as the batting order, needed doctoring. His first move, of course was to line up the batters so that their individual work in offense would become as effective as possible in securing runs. Almost simultaneously he called to the bench the regular center fielder, although that individual had established a record in the league for his great ground covering, sureness on flies, and splendidly accurate long throws to the sacks or the plate. It was Kennedy’s theory that all outfielders should be hitters, and the man benched had the lowest batting average on the team. The former first baseman was sent out into the middle garden, where he soon demonstrated that he had the making of an outfielder. The regular third baseman did not handle hot grounders to Kennedy’s satisfaction, but in all other ways he could cover the sack well, therefore the manager switched him round to first, where he would not get so many sizzling grass clippers. This move proved to be a piece of wisdom, but it left the third station vacant, and for some time Kennedy was bothered to plug the hole. The first person tried was Tim Coffin, the utility man, who had been kept on the bench, but Coffin had the same trouble with sharp ground hits. Nevertheless, at bat he was certain to get one clean, hard bingle a game, and his average was nearly two, which created in Kennedy’s breast a strong desire to keep him regularly at work. “Have you ever done any backstopping, Coffin?” asked the manager. “A little,” was the reply. “I started out to be a catcher.” “You’ve got a good whip,” said old Jack. “We’ll try you behind the pan to-day. Brinkley will have a go at third.” Behind the pan Coffin did a splendid turn, being far more successful than Brinkley in stopping base pilfering. Brinkley was one of those backstops who could handle almost any sort of pitching and rarely let a wild heave get past him if there was any possible way of touching it, but his base throwing was erratic. The players of every other team in the league knew this, but they soon found that they could not reap the advantage of a wild throw off Coffin at a critical time, and their first efforts to do so cost them dearly. But Brinkley was no third baseman, and Kennedy kept the wires hot with distress signals in his efforts to fill that position. In response to one of those signals, Joe Digg blew into Deering. Digg had come up from the sand lots through the minors to the Big League, where, after creating a sensation in the early part of one season, he passed away in a blaze of red fire. Drink had sent Joe back to the minors and thence down into temporary oblivion. Kennedy knew him as a crackajack third sacker and a terror to pitchers when he was sober and in condition. Old Jack met the new man at the station. “Hello, Joe,” he said cordially, shaking Digg’s hand. “Glad to see you.”