In addition, the boy was conscious of an overpowering lassitude that increased as the day wore on. His misery and its chief cause had not escaped the observing eyes of the little maid, Jane Brown, whose clear and incisive voice was distinctly audible as she confided to her friend Nora her disappointment in Miss Hazel. “She won't look at him to-day,” she said. “She's just waiting for the boys to come. She'll be nicer then.” There was no animus in the voice, only surprise and disappointment. To Larry, however, the fact that the secret tragedy of his soul was thus laid bare, filled him with a sudden rage. He cast a wrathful eye upon the little maid. She met his glance with a placid smile, volunteering the cheerful remark, “They won't be long now.” A fury possessed the boy. “Oh shut your mouth, will you?” he said, glaring at her. For a moment little Jane looked at him, surprise, dismay, finally pity succeeding each other in the deep blue eyes. Hastily she glanced about to see if the others had heard the awful outburst. She was relieved to note that only Joe and Nora were near enough to hear. She settled herself down in a position of greater comfort and confided to her friend Nora with an air of almost maternal solicitude, “I believe he has a pain. I am sure he has a pain.” Larry sprang to his feet, and without a glance at his anxious tormentor said, “Come on, Joe, let's go for a hunt in the woods.” Jane looked wistfully after the departing boys. “I wish they would ask us, Nora. Don't you? I think he is nice when he isn't mad,” she said. To which Nora firmly assented. A breeze from the west and the arrival of the High School team, resplendent in their new baseball uniforms, brought to the limp loiterers under the trees a reviving life and interest in the day's doings. It was due to Jane that Sam got into the game, for when young Frank Smart was searching for a suitable left fielder to complete the All Comers team, he spied seated among the boys the little girl. “Hello, Jane; in your usual place, I see!” he called out to her as he passed. “Hello, Frank!” she called to him brightly. “Frank! Frank!” she cried, after the young man had passed, springing up and running after him. “I am in a hurry, Jane; I must get a man for left field.” “But, Frank,” she said, catching his arm, for young Smart was a great friend of hers and of her father's. “I want to tell you. You see that funny boy under the tree,” she continued, lowering her voice. “Well, he's a splendid player. Tom doesn't want him to play, and I don't either, because I want the High School to beat. But it would not be fair not to tell you, would it?” Young Smart looked at her curiously. “Say, little girl, you're a sport. And is he a good player?” “Oh, he's splendid, but he's queer--I mean he looks queer. He's awfully funny. But that doesn't matter, does it?” “Not a hair, if he can play ball. What's his name?” “Sam--something.” “Sam Something? That is a funny name.”