June was having a fine time with a bag of peanuts, which he shared with Sam, and was already a violent partisan of the Harrisville Badgers. His comments, voiced for Wayne’s ear alone but audible to the nearby spectators, aroused much mirth. Wayne didn’t hear them all, for he was busy watching the players and their methods. He saw several tricks that were new to his experience. For instance, a Doncaster coach at third insisted that a runner who had reached that base should keep outside the foul line, something that the runner repeatedly neglected to do. That puzzled Wayne for the better part of two innings and wasn’t solved until a batter hit sharply to young Bennett, whereupon Wayne realised that had a runner been on fair ground he would probably have been hit by the ball and so been put out. By keeping on foul territory he was safe. He stored the fact away in his memory for future use. Most of all he watched the playing of Jones, the second baseman. Jones was short and a bit heavy-looking, but he seemed fast enough in action and certainly played a good, steady game. At bat he was not dangerous that afternoon, but, for that matter, none of the Badgers was. Wayne asked the man behind him, who had volunteered the information about the batteries, what sort of a hitter Jones was and the man pursed his lips and shrugged his shoulders. “Clover Jones? We-ell, he ain’t so bad as some. He bats better’n Tim Leary. I’ve seen Clover everlastingly wallop the ball an’ then again I’ve seen him go a week without making a hit. You can’t tell about Clover. He’s a good baseman, though. Ain’t anybody hitting today. That feller Henderson’s got a lot on the ball, I guess.”