Meanwhile Walter had gone to Dan’s home, and as he entered the yard he saw his friend just coming out of the barn. He was carrying a pail of milk in each hand and his appearance, dressed as he was in his overalls and without any hat, for the first time impressed his friend with a vague sense of unfitness. What would Sinclair Bradley (called “Sin” by his fellows for more reasons than one) say if he should see Walter’s new roommate in his present garb? Walter vaguely thought also of the remarks which others of his classmates might make, but his feeling of vague uneasiness speedily departed as he ran forward to greet Dan. The thought of fifteen strike-outs was vastly stronger at the moment than that of the remarks of his friends over Dan’s somewhat uncouth appearance. “Hello, Dan!” called Walter lightly as he approached. “I’ve heard the good news! You’re going to the Tait School with me this fall.” “Yes,” responded Dan quietly. “Why don’t you get excited, Dan?” Walter demanded as he walked beside his friend toward the milk-room, which was an addition to the old farmhouse, built of stone and provided with ice which Dan and his brother cut every winter from the mill-pond not far away. “Perhaps I am, more than you think,” replied Dan. “That’s all right. You’re as cool when you face the prospect of rooming with me as you are when you face the heaviest hitter on the other nine and have three men on bases.” “Am I?” Dan spoke quietly, and Walter, in his own feeling of elation, perhaps failed to look beneath the surface. “Yes. You wouldn’t be, if you knew what you are going into.” “I guess you’re right,” said Dan soberly. “Of course I am!” exclaimed Walter, enthusiastic once more in the company of his friend. “You’ll like the fellows immensely. Right across the hall from us will be Owen Pease and Sin Bradley’s room. You’ll like both of them. Owen plays in the field on the nine. He’s about ten feet long and two inches wide.” “I should think he’d go with Barnum. I never saw a man built on that plan.” “Oh, well, I’ve put it a little strong,” laughed Walter. “But he’s length without breadth or thickness. Honestly, Dan, he’s the thinnest person you ever saw.” “But I never saw him.” “You will, soon. Thinner than anyone I ever saw then; put it that way if you want to. When we were playing the Colt nine this spring Owen was scared, at least he said he was, to face the pitcher. He did throw a wicked ball, Dan, there’s no mistake about that. I felt a little nervous myself when I faced him. But Owen made such a time over it and said he was afraid of being hit that Sin took a bat and stuck it up on the ground right in front of Owen and said, ‘Here, old man, you just hide behind that and you’ll be safe.’” “Did he get all his ten feet behind one bat?” “He might as far as his thickness was concerned. Owen is the thinnest chap I ever saw, just as I told you, but he’s made of wire and steel.” “Who is this ‘Sin’ you speak of?” “Sin Bradley.”