Nat turned toward Lawrence. "Ted Pollock, an old chum of ours, is still making the professors at the school throw up their hands in despair. So are most of the other chaps around here." "I've seen Benny Wilkins at the school," said Owen. "We must whisper that he's seen too often everywhere. He totes around a note-book--must fill one every week. What did you put down to-day, Benny?" Wilkins slowly drew from his pocket the article in question, and, opening it, read: "Four thirty-five P. M. Sized up the candidates for the ball team. No good. Four forty P. M. Tom Clifton received notification to that effect. Four forty-one P. M. Tom Clifton said so much in about three minutes that I left it all out. Four fifty P. M. Looked at a book containing logarithms, but decided that Terry Guffin's was better." "There is hope for you yet, Benny," remarked "Crackers," solemnly. Owen Lawrence paid but little attention to the boys outside of his immediate circle, for he quickly noticed that they were apparently but a chorus playing a very secondary part to the principal "stars" of the "Retreat." "Say, fellows, who was that elderly gentleman who came over to the ball grounds this afternoon?" he inquired, presently. Several started to answer at once. But Nat Wingate silenced them. "Mr. Rupert Barry," he explained. "They say he's the oldest graduate of the high school. Has a great lot of the stuff everybody's scrapping for, too--money." "Awful queer old chap," confided Ted Pollock. "What's all the talk about a new ball field that Tom Clifton is getting off every day?" asked Owen. "I was just about to tell you," answered Nat. "Hello, Terry"--he raised his voice--"are you baking that pie?" The white cap and smiling countenance of Mr. Guffin immediately appeared in the doorway. "Just a moment, Nat," he answered, rubbing his hands together. "Hurry it up, Terry. Well, Lawrence, Mr. Barry owns a large field about three-quarters of a mile from the school. And, last year, he sprang a sensation on the crowd which some of 'em haven't gotten over yet." "If I'd only known about it at the time I'd have stayed at the school and won it for the boys," remarked John Hackett. "You?" scoffed Benny Wilkins. "Before night comes I guess I'll know the particulars," laughed Owen. "Everybody keep quiet until spoken to," commanded Nat. "Mr. Barry ambled over to the school one day and saw Professor Hopkins." "I'll tell him what happened," interrupted Ted Pollock. "You weren't there, Nat. I can see the principal now----" "You can't," declared Benny Wilkins--"unless you've eaten too much pie." "He came into the assembly room with Mr. Barry. 'Boys,' he said, in solemn tones, 'you all know our esteemed fellow townsman. He tells me that on several occasions some of you have attempted to play ball on his lot.'" "Thought you were going to catch it, I suppose?" grinned Owen.