“How is that?” “They pay us just what they’d have to pay at a grocery store, and our potatoes are better.” “Is that what your customers say?” “Yes, sir; and we don’t have any small potatoes in the bottom of the barrel.” “That’s something worth thinking of. My boy tells me you played a great game of ball to-day.” “Yes, sir; the nine did well.” “Walter says you made up the nine.” “Did he tell you that? Walter himself began a triple play in the ninth inning that probably saved my record.” “I don’t recall if he did.” “What is a triple play?” inquired Mrs. Borden. “It’s when you get three out right together,” explained Walter. “Of course. I ought to have known that,” said Mrs. Borden. “How far ‘out’ do they have to go? I could hear the boys this afternoon. They were not very far out from the village.” “Not very far, mother,” said Walter. “I must come over and see your potatoes, Dan,” said Mr. Borden. “Are they doing well this season?” “Yes, sir,” Dan replied, “though we’ve had a hard fight with the bugs. I never saw them worse than they are this summer.” * * * * * For an hour or more the party remained on the piazza, Mr. Borden taking only an occasional part in the conversation, which Walter did not suffer to lag. Dan, absolutely unaware that Mr. Borden was listening and watching with a purpose, was quiet in his manner, speaking less frequently than his friend and then in fewer words. It was plain that he enjoyed the evening, for Walter’s mother, as well as the other members of the family, by their manifest friendliness and interest, made him less conscious of himself, and the quiet boy entered after his own manner into the spirit of the group. After Dan’s departure Mrs. Borden said to her husband, “Well, what do you think of Dan? To me he seems to be an unusually fine boy.” “Yes,” agreed Mr. Borden. “Are you going to help him through school?” “I thought Walter was planning to do that,” laughed Mr. Borden quietly. “I am proud that my boy is so generous,” said Mrs. Borden warmly. “He wants to help his friend.” “How many was it that Dan struck out?” asked Mr. Borden soberly as he turned to his boy. “Twenty-one, wasn’t it?” “No, sir; fifteen,” replied Walter promptly. “So it was,” assented Mr. Borden. “That is a good record.” “But Dan is more than a good ball-player,” asserted Walter. “He is a hard worker and he has the best head on him I ever saw. He never loses his head in a game, he doesn’t dispute the umpire or yell at the fellows――――” “Do you ever do that, Walter?” broke in Mr. Borden. “I’m afraid I do,” admitted Walter shamefacedly. “All boys shout, I hear them every day,” spoke up Mrs. Borden. “I am sure Walter does no more than other boys of his age.” “Not in your ears, mother,” laughed her husband. “Ask Walter what he thinks about it. He ought to know.” “What I want to know is whether or not you are going to help Dan.” “I cannot say as yet.” “Why not?”