A big crowd turned out the following Saturday for the Lesterville game. As a manufacturing town Lesterville was something of a rival to Clearfield and baseball lovers of the latter place were eager to see the Lesterville players humbled. By half-past two—the game was scheduled for three o’clock—the stand was well filled. Dick’s charges reached the field soon after the half-hour and began practice. They had, however, scarcely begun throwing the balls around when there was a commotion at the gate and Tim Turner was seen excitedly gesticulating toward Dick, who, near first base, was watching the team. Dick hurried across to the gate and found Tim trying to exclude a short, red-faced man in blue overalls. “He says he wants to get in to open the big gate,” explained Tim. “He says they’re going to begin work in here. They’ve got a cart down the street there and a lot of men and——” “Sure,” said the man in overalls. “We’re going to plow in here. Them’s the orders.” “But you can’t do it now,” exclaimed Dick. “We’re going to play in half an hour. Those folks on the stand have paid to see the game. Can’t you wait until Monday?” “We cannot,” replied the man emphatically. “Mr. Brent give me the contract to build the street through here and me time’s valuable. You’ll have to play your game somewhere else, I’m thinking.” “But we can’t do that! There isn’t any other place! Look here, Mr. Brent gave us permission to use this field and I’m sure he wouldn’t want you to come and break up our game like this. The other fellows have come all the way from Lesterville to play us.” “’Tis no affair of mine, young feller.” The man tried to push by Dick and Tim, but many of the audience, attracted by the argument, had gathered around, and these, taking Dick’s side, stood immovably in the way. The contractor showed anger. “Now you fellers let me through here till I open them gates down there,” he blustered. “If you don’t we’ll break ’em down.” “Try it!” said someone eagerly, and a laugh of approval went up. “I’ll get the cops here if you make trouble for me an’ me men! An’ if it’s trouble you’re lookin’ for——” “Oh, run away till the game’s over, can’t you?” asked another of the throng. “Be a sport! What’s the good of busting up the fun?” “An’ me losin’ money while you fellers play ball, eh? What for would I be doin’ that? You leave me get to the gates.” “Nothing doing, friend! Better back out!” “Hold on a minute,” said Dick quietly. “Will you wait fifteen minutes, Mister—er——” “Me name’s Mullin,” growled the contractor. “What’ll I be waitin’ fer?” “To give us a chance to see Mr. Brent about it.” “I got me contract, an’——” “I know,” said Dick soothingly. “That’s all right. You’ve got a perfect right to come in here and do whatever you’ve got to do, but it’s going to put us in an awful mess. Give us time to find Mr. Brent and see what he says about it, won’t you?” “How long will it take?”