Of course Harold was there, score-book under arm, following Dick around closely. And Morris, too, in his capacity of honorary member of the visiting nine. Probably he would have been welcome in any case, for to-day was to witness the formal transfer of the field, in Morris’s name, from Mr. Brent to the High School. Mr. Grayson, who had arrived home the day before, was to attend and Morris was to deliver the deed to him, as a sort of added attraction. Morris, however, didn’t appear oppressed by his importance, a fact which his companions were quick to notice and approve. At five minutes past the two teams went out to the diamond, and as they appeared, the band, massed fourteen strong in front of the grandstand, broke into the triumphal strains of “See the Conquering Hero Comes.” By that time the stand was filled to overflowing, the extra seats were well occupied and the settees sprinkled, while around the diamond what looked to the startled gaze of the players to be a vast assemblage sat or stood. “Jumpin’ Jupiter!” muttered Fudge, his eyes very big and round. “S-s-s-say, Jack, I won’t b-b-b-be able to c-c-catch a thing!” “I guess we’ll all have stage-fright,” replied Jack Tappen, with a rather nervous laugh. “Who would have thought all this crowd would have come? And look at the gate! They’re still coming, Fudge!” “G-g-guess I’ll s-s-s-sneak home,” said Fudge. Dick was frankly puzzled. Instead of trotting into the field to begin practice, his charges were lounging over toward the plate, and with them went the Point team. Then Dick’s eyes fell on that blue runabout again, and he frowned and followed the players, who by this time had gathered about it. Harold, who never allowed Dick to get more than six feet away from him, went, too. “Someone will have to get that car out of here,” announced Dick impatiently. “Whose is it, anyway?” As the band, which had been blaring forth a twostep, stopped suddenly at a signal from Gordon, just in the middle of Dick’s pronouncement, he finished it in a voice which, owing to the silence, was audible halfway to the outfield. A ripple of amusement came from the nearer seats. Dick, embarrassed by events and by an impending something that he sensed, looked blankly about the grinning faces. “Wh-what’s the matter?” he faltered, appealing to Gordon. Gordon cleared his throat and took a step forward. The rest of the players shuffled into the semblance of a half-circle behind him and about the blue car. The audience, none of them in the secret but all suspecting interesting developments, grew very still. “Dick,” began Gordon, very red of countenance and nervous of manner, “we—that is——” “Go to it, Gordie,” murmured Lanny encouragingly. Gordon took a deep breath and another start: “The Clearfield Baseball Club, in recognition of your services as manager and—and in token of its esteem and——” “Respect and esteem,” prompted Lanny, _sotto voce_.