Gone were the high-priced athletes with the letters on their breasts; A lot of urchins showed instead, minus their coats and vests-- No blue-clad umpire ran the game with frown and raucous yell-- The kids just ran the game themselves, and ran it mighty well. "One Old Cat" and a slivered bat and shanks that scorned fatigue Were quite the whole equipment in the famous Laddies' League. "It's funny," said the Grown-up Fan, his vagrant vision o'er, "But baseball of this high-class type is something of a bore. Maybe it's all too flawless as they run the game to-day-- It doesn't grip me, somehow, like the games we used to play." The Grown-up Fan, a worn old man, began his homeward climb With memories of the Laddies' League that bars us all in time. THE $11,000 BEAUTY Of course, McGraw is always wrong--he never picks a winner. That's why the Giant's backers never have the price for dinner. His record as a manager is one long trail of blunders-- He always kept the dead ones and he always canned the wonders. For three long years, with hoots and jeers, the rooters cried: "You boob! Why don't you fire this Marquard?" But McGraw stood pat on "Rube." McGraw has often kept young chaps when rooters shouted "Sell them!" He never tells the rooters why, and doesn't have to tell them. He doesn't like a lobster, and, believe me, Alexander, He wasn't on a dead one when he kept that big left-hander. You've no idea how many fans called John McGraw a boob For letting other youngsters go and standing pat on "Rube." Rich merchants criticised McGraw in terms that were unkind-- Merchants with lazy shipping clerks and men that robbed them blind. But Mac just smiled and held his peace. He should have said: "Don't whine! Mismanage your own business, boys, and let me _manage_ mine!" When Matty's cunning goes at last--all arms in time must tire-- He'll leave a great successor in the boy Mac wouldn't fire. THE LAY OF THE NEW YORK FAN Yes, the baseball season's over and the geese are flying South; Giants count their winnings gaily, Yanks are frothing at the mouth. Glancing o'er the season's records, looking at the layout now, Nothing seems to bring deep furrows to my pale and thoughtful brow. True, we didn't win the pennant as we did in days of yore For the Yankees couldn't stop 'em and the Giants couldn't score, But the New York fans must chuckle (you can get this at a glance) When they think of the Athletics and of Peerless Leader Chance.