Wyeth looked at him, but the other didn't gather what the expression meant, so he said: "Jok, you are full." They were passing into a cut, and he saw at a glance the reason for the plant suffering. About two to six inches from the surface was a thick layer of jip, which, as he knew, prevented the water from going into the subsoil, to come up when the sun had dried the surface, and furnish nourishment to the roots. Further argument was not necessary, for, as they came out of the cut, a saloon smiled before them, and into this their companion disappeared. When they arrived at the grounds, thousands had preceded them, and the same was black with people, enjoying a holiday. The diamond had been cleared, and preparations were in order for opening of the game. The contestants were a set of school boys and girls, and women, in fact, any girl or woman that could be prevailed upon for the occasion. The sun, now in the west, could be seen only at intervals, as it hung suspended above the heavy treetops. The air was unusually still and humid. The heat was intense; but, notwithstanding the fact, the future American Negro seemed to be getting all that a holiday afforded. Popcorn and cracker-jack, lemonade and coca-cola, barbecue and fried fish, were being consumed by the crowd in every direction in large quantities, and all seemed to be happy. At last the preliminaries were over. The game was called. On every base, in the pitcher's box, the catchers, and in the field, stood black girls. Gayly they flitted about, and caught the ball cleverly, as it was thrown from one to the other. "Play ball!" called the umpire. Everyone had his eye upon the game. A strapping woman, wound up like a professional, and let drive a swift ball that went far to the right of a left hand batter. "Ba-l-l one!" cried the umpire. "Frow lak a ole maid," cackled a big-mouthed Negro, who was immediately hooted down. "St-r-i-k-e one!" cried the umpire, slapping his thigh, giving vent to a big laugh, as the batter swung wildly at the ball just missed. "Dat gal's got some speed, b'lieve muh!" cried another Negro, who was a good support. "Who dat gal?" inquired another, at this point. "Do'n you know 'er?" someone else replied. "Dat's Bobb Lee's wife. Dey is pa'ted, y' know."