He had been in the freight house about a fortnight and May had come to the world, bringing ardent sunshine and soft breezes. Green leaves were unfolding and the meadows were verdant. It was sometimes a task in those first warm days to move, and the trucks that rolled incessantly from cars to platform and from platform to freight house moved more slowly. One noontime Wayne felt too languorous to walk even as far as Denny’s, and so he bought two sandwiches and some apples from a man who came around with a basket and joined the throng on the shaded platform where the trucks stood. After a while one of the younger fellows pulled a baseball from his pocket and soon a half-dozen were throwing and catching in the wide cobble-paved road behind the sheds. Wayne watched lazily and interestedly until a wild throw sent the ball rolling under a truck to his feet. He jumped down and rescued it and threw it back, choosing the man farthest distant and speeding the ball to him so hard and true that shouts of commendation rewarded him. “Come on out here, kid, and take a hand,” called one of the players, and Wayne, glad enough to do it, responded, forgetting that a quarter of an hour ago he had felt too lazy to walk two blocks. There was lots of fun to be had, for many of the players, Wayne amongst them, had not handled a ball since the summer before and the “hot ones” made them wince and yell, something that always brought laughter from the rest. Soon a dozen or so were at it and the ball passed from one to another, up and down the road. Occasionally a fly would go up and a mad scramble ensue in which hats fell off and the ball, as like as not, escaped them all. Wayne thoroughly enjoyed that half-hour and resolved to buy a baseball on his way home so that he and June could pass.