“A nice lot of fellows,” he said. “I had a real good time out there. That kid Williams is going to make a pitcher some day if he sticks at it. He’s a smooth little article, Tom. Of course he’s young yet, but he shows a lot of promise. The older fellow, Farrar, will never do anything. He’s got started all wrong and he won’t let anyone tell him anything. He hasn’t any head, either. He will be some better when I get through with him, I guess, but he won’t ever amount to much.” The baseball squad took to the big, quiet-mannered, good-hearted detective at once; Tom saw that the next day. Mr. George even threatened to rival Coach Talbot in the affections of the boys. The team journeyed to Minturn on Saturday, and Tom went along. The game with the Minturn team was a loosely played contest, which the Brown-and-Blue won by the one-sided score of 14 to 3. Tom pitched three innings, relieving Pete Farrar in the seventh. He wasn’t forced to extend himself any to dispose of the Minturn hitters that faced him. He struck out five, made one put-out, and assisted twice. At bat, which he reached but once, he managed to make a rather scratchy hit and got as far as second when Buster slashed a hard one down the left alley. Then he performed a “bone-head” play that ended his chances of scoring and put the side out. Bert Meyers popped a high infield fly and Tom started for third before the frenzied cries of the coaches could stop him. By the time he was racing back to his base the Minturn first baseman had caught the fly and pegged the ball across to shortstop and Tom made the third out. He felt very much ashamed of himself and rather expected censure from Coach Talbot. But all the latter said as Tom went over to the bench was, “Infield flies are bad things to run on, Pollock.” Captain Warner, however, was not so lenient, and regarded Tom with a scowl as he passed him on his way to second. “You want to keep your wits about you, Pollock,” he said severely, “when you play this game. Don’t you know enough to hold your base on an infield fly, when there’s only one out?” “I’m sorry,” he said contritely. Warner grunted. To atone for his mistake, Tom set to work and ended the contest then and there, disposing of the next three batsmen with exactly thirteen pitched balls. The victory, however, was not one to be very proud of, for the error column of Manager Arbuckle’s score-sheet showed seven little black dots. It was the Monday morning following the Minturn game that Tom stopped for a minute to watch the work on the new office building. The concrete foundation piers were in place and big steel girders were being lifted about by towering cranes like so many jack-straws. While he watched at the edge of the throng, the contractor to whom Mr. Cummings had sold the pump passed and chanced to catch sight of him. “Hello!” he said, turning back with a smile, “aren’t you the boy who told me about that pump that Cummings sold me?” “Yes, sir. Was it all right?”