They played the Ludlow Y. M. C. A. that afternoon and were beaten ingloriously, 14 to 4. The Chenangos relied on their second-best pitcher, and his work was nearer third-best on that occasion. Wayne got a chance in the eighth inning, pinch-hitting for Despaigne, who was never a strong batter, and subsequently going in at third when a substitute was wanted. Wayne did well enough in the infield but failed to hit, which was about the way with the others. Hitting was the Chenangos’ weak point that day. Pitching was another, however, scarcely less lamentable. As Jim Wheelock said on the way home, it would have taken eighteen fellows instead of nine to keep Ludlow from scoring her runs. Jordan, the substitute pitcher, was hit “fast, far, and frequent,” and the tiredest members of the visiting team were the outfielders. Several good-natured jibes were aimed at June on the return trip, but June didn’t mind them a bit. “Ain’ no mascot as ever was, gen’lemen, can change the luck for a team that ain’ hittin’. I done my mascotin’ all right, but you gen’lemen didn’ give me no kind o’ support!” There was one thing about his companions that Wayne admired, and that was their good nature in defeat. He remembered that when his school team had returned from that disastrous contest with Athens High gloom thick enough to be cut with a knife had enveloped them. After all, playing ball was sport and not business, and why should they be downhearted over a defeat? Whether they should or not, they certainly were not. Even Jordan, who had so ignominiously failed in the box, seemed no whit upset, nor did the rest hold it against him. They had quite as merry a time of it returning home as they had had going to Ludlow. But it was apparent on Monday that Captain Taylor meant to do better the next time. Several substitutes were changed over into the first nine, and Wayne was amongst them. Wayne was bothered because he couldn’t hit the ball as he was capable of hitting it, but comforted himself with the assurance that practice would bring back his former skill. But it didn’t seem to. In the next four practice games he secured but one clean hit, a two-bagger, and a very doubtful “scratch.” He confided to June one evening that he was afraid he had forgotten how to hit. “That fellow Chase isn’t nearly as much of a pitcher as Ned Calhoun was, and I never had much trouble with Ned, did I?” “Mas’ Wayne,” said June, “I done been watchin’ you, sir, an’ I goin’ to tell you-all jus’ what the trouble is.” “I wish you would,” sighed Wayne. “What is it?” “You-all’s too anxious. Anxiousness jus’ sticks out all over you when you goes to bat. Now the nex’ time, Mas’ Wayne, jus’ you go up there an’ tell you’self you don’ care ’tall if you hits or if you don’ hit. Jus’ you forget how anxious you is an’ watch that ol’ pill an’ hit it on the nose. If you does that, sir, you’s goin’ to see it travel, yes, sir!”