But I know differently. I have seen umpires with friends. It is true that most ball-players regard umpires as their natural enemies, as a boy does a school teacher. But "Bill" Klem has friends because I have seen him with them, and besides he has a constant companion, which is a calabash pipe. And "Billy" Evans of the American League has lots of friends. And most all of the umpires have some one who will speak to them when they are off the field. These men in blue travel by themselves, live at obscure hotels apart from those at which the teams stop, and slip into the ball parks unobtrusively just before game time. They never make friends with ball-players off the field for fear that there might be a hint of scandal. Seldom do they take the same train with a club unless it cannot be avoided. "Hank" O'Day, the veteran of the National League staff, and Brennan took the same train out of Chicago with the Giants in the fall of 1911 because we stopped in Pittsburg for one game, and they had to be there to umpire. It was the only available means of transportation. But they stayed by themselves in another Pullman until some one told them "Charley" Faust, the official jinx-killer of the Giants, was doing his stunt. Then they both came back into the Giants' car and for the first time in my life I saw "Hank" O'Day laugh. His face acted as if it wasn't accustomed to the exercise and broke all in funny new wrinkles, like a glove when you put it on for the first time. There are several types of umpires, and ball-players are always studying the species to find out the best way to treat each man to get the most out of him. There are autocrats and stubborn ones and good fellows and weak-kneed ones, almost as many kinds as there are human beings. The autocrat of the umpire world is "Silk" O'Loughlin, now appearing with a rival show. "There are no close plays," says "Silk." "A man is always out or safe, or it is a ball or a strike, and the umpire, if he is a good man and knows his business, is always right. For instance, I am always right." He refuses to let the players discuss a decision with him, maintaining that there is never any room for argument. If a man makes any talk with him, it is quick to the shower bath. "Silk" has a voice of which he is proud and declares that he shares the honors with Caruso and that it is only his profession as an umpire that keeps him off the grand-opera circuit. I have heard a lot of American League ball-players say at various times that they wished he was on the grand-opera circuit or some more calorific circuit, but they were mostly prejudiced at those moments by some sentiments which "Silk" had just voiced in an official capacity.