We were expecting the Park men on the 11:30 train; so, shortly after eleven o’clock, Tony Larcom, Ray Wendell, and I went down to the depot with an omnibus to meet them. We were determined that no charge of rudeness or neglect should be brought to our door, so we had made provision for the Park men at our club a week in advance, and had arranged for rooms where they could leave their baggage. They seemed to take this as a matter of course, and manifested neither by word nor act the least appreciation of the care we had taken to make them comfortable. Long before two o’clock――the hour of beginning the game――the box office at the entrance to the grounds was besieged by a large and jostling crowd of students and graduates who had been unable to get reserved seats in the grand stand and were compelled to take their chances of a seat on the benches that flanked two sides of the diamond. “Just listen to that, Harry,” remarked Tony, as the clink of silver greeted our ears. “A great treasury we’ll have to-night.” During the next quarter hour, the grand stand and benches filled rapidly; and by the time we stepped out on the field in our uniforms a double row of spectators, who had been unable to get seats of any kind, almost encircled the grounds. We were greeted with three times three cheers, and settled down to practice in good spirits. The Park men, in their turn, received a generous greeting, and were given a chance to exhibit themselves. As we came in from the field Ray nodded to me with a pleasant smile. “Our fellows are in good feather, Harry,” he said. “If we can’t beat them to-day, we never can.” At this moment the umpire came out with the new ball in his hand. Ray and Beard approached him; a few words were exchanged, the coin was tossed, and then Ray turned on his heel and came back toward me. “They won the toss,” he said. “Get your bat ready, Harry; you are first on the list.” I stepped forward to the homeplate, the Park men took their various positions; the crowd became still; the umpire tossed the snowy white ball along the ground to Arnold, then raised his hand and cried, “Play!” Instantly the ball came in like a flash of light. I was unprepared for it, but struck at it fiercely, and to my own surprise, drove a fine two base hit out toward right field. It was an auspicious beginning, and was greeted by an uproar from the benches. This sobered Arnold, who began more cautiously with George Ives, who followed me, and succeeded in striking him out. Then came Alfred Burnett, who knocked to shortstop, and was thrown out at first base; I in the mean time reaching third base. Dick Palmer was next at the bat, and proved himself worthy of the trust we had always reposed in his batting abilities by making a single base hit, and bringing me home, thus scoring the first run. The half inning was closed by Percy Randall’s knocking a high fly which was captured by the Park left fielder. We then took the field.