“No, not more’n a mile and a half. Mr. Milburn walks out there every morning. Go out Prentiss Street till you come to the armory and then turn left and follow the car tracks. You’ll find it.” “I surely will!” Wayne told himself as he thanked the boy and went out again. “But the next time I’ll know better than to let him get away from me like that. When you start to do anything, I reckon it’s a good plan to keep on doing it.” As it was still only a quarter to ten, Wayne assured himself that he had plenty of time. But he also assured himself that he wasn’t going to loiter for that reason. If he could intercept Mr. Milburn before he started to work it would, he thought, be better. So he set forth at a good, steady pace, asking his direction every few squares so that he would not again get lost, and presently found the armory and took the turn to the left as instructed. A square farther a blue car buzzed past him bearing the legend “Ball Grounds,” and Wayne knew that he was right. It was, however, a minute or two past the half-hour, when the enclosure came into sight, and Wayne decided that the bell boy had underestimated the distance, possibly from kindly motives. The park occupied two squares in a part of the city given over to small, thickly clustered dwellings. On one side the railroad tracks ran close to the high board fence and smoke from the engines--accompanied by cinders, as Wayne was to learn later--billowed over onto the field whenever the wind blew in the right--or, more accurately, wrong--direction. The place looked well cared for and the stands, visible above the fence, were of steel and concrete. The ticket windows and main entrances were closed and Wayne went nearly to the next corner before he found a means of ingress. And even then his way was barred by a man who sat beside the small door reading a paper until Wayne had exhibited his letter. “All right, Jack, help yourself,” replied the man on guard. “He’s in the house, I guess.” Wayne didn’t consider it worth while to waste his time telling the man that his name wasn’t Jack; which was just as well since Mike always called everyone Jack--except Mr. Milburn and one or two of the more important team members--and it wasn’t at all likely that he would have given serious consideration to the correction. Wayne passed through and found himself squarely behind first base, with a wide expanse of not very flourishing turf stretching away to the distant fences which were everywhere adorned with colourful advertisements of everything from smoking tobacco to suspenders. Beside him on his right was an open door leading into a structure built under one of the stands and which he presumed held the dressing quarters. At his left was another stand with a similar building beneath it. Over the door of the latter was the word “Visitors.”