“Better, it seems to me. I suppose she’s getting the stiffness out of her. Well, we’d better hike along to dinner. You’re sure your mother won’t mind having me, Gordon?” “She expects you. I telephoned I was bringing you. Come on.” It was long before two o’clock when the crowd began moving toward the field. Stewart, the liveryman, ran carriages from the station to the entrance and did a good business. At a few minutes before two Gordon and Dick and Lanny arrived. Mr. Potter was already on hand, instructing the two boys who were acting as ushers and keeping an eye on the amateur ticket seller at the gate. Tim Turner stood inside and took the tickets, dropping them into a tin box and looking as professional as you please. Dick’s gaze found the automobile the instant he was inside and he stopped short and stared at it. And no wonder, for a blue runabout placed imposingly in the center of a baseball diamond is about as incongruous a sight as one often sees. “Wh-what the dickens!” gasped Dick. “Oh, that?” said Gordon. “That’s the car that Morris just sold. Looks pretty well, doesn’t it? Come on in the dressing-room.” “But what’s it doing there?” asked Dick. “Whose is it?” “I suppose someone left it there. Gee, Dick, look at the crowd here already! We’ll have to have groundrules if they keep coming!” “Yes, I guess so. But—that car! It can’t stand there, Gordie!” “Of course not. It’ll be out of the way by the time we’re ready to practice, I dare say. There’s Tom. Come on. We’d better get changed. It must be almost two.” Dick followed them into the dressing-room without further remarks, but it was plain to be seen that the incident of the misplaced automobile was occupying his thoughts. Most of the team had arrived and in another moment Dick found enough to attend to and talk about without further bothering his head with the blue runabout. The Point team came in a few minutes later and then there was a fine confusion and noise in there. Everyone was in the best of spirits and there was no sign of animosity between the opponents. One might have thought, were it not for the difference in costumes, that the two dozen or so fellows were team-mates rather than rivals. It was the first time that most of the Clearfield fellows had seen the Rutter’s Point players in their new togs, and they had to acknowledge that the white suits and blue-and-yellow-striped stockings were very attractive.