In his new capacity as guide Luke Phelps made the best use of the opportunity to satisfy his curiosity. This, he found, did not require a great deal of diplomacy. The boys soon learned that they were talking to Captain Ralph Bunderley, of Kenosha, and Victor Collins, his nephew, son of a widely-known Chicago lawyer. They also became aware of the fact that the captain, who owned the motor yacht "Fearless," and his young relative had met several of the Ramblers, Charlie Blake and Joe Rodgers, during the preceding fall, when the boys were making a motor car trip from Chicago to Kingswood. "As fine a crowd of youngsters as I ever met, too," declared Captain Bunderley. "They said something about getting up a ball nine, and wanted us to run over and see 'em. So here we are!" "Say, how is Tom Clifton getting on?" asked Victor Collins, abruptly. "Has he pulled off any mighty stunts on the diamond yet?" Phelps exchanged significant glances with his companions. "Don't mention it. We're trying to forget baseball," he answered, wearily. "What's the matter? Wouldn't Bob Somers take you on his team?" Victor Collins' voice was delicate and refined; but there was something in his manner which impressed the boys with the idea that perhaps he wasn't quite so easy as they had supposed. "I never tried to get on," grumbled Phelps. "I had better sense." "I thought those chaps were all corking good players," said Victor. "From the way Clifton talked last fall you might have expected by this time to see accounts of Bob Somers' ball nine in the Chicago papers." "Is that what he called it?" asked Jim. "Sure! Why?" "You mustn't even whisper such a thing before 'em now," snapped Aleck Parks. "It's the Kingswood High baseball team. But the club is run by the Ramblers, just the same." "I fear there are mutterings of discontent here," said Captain Bunderley. He looked sharply at the trio. "I thought I'd find all the boys red-hot for Bob Somers and his friends. I won't hear a word against them from anybody--understand that. They're all good square fellows with level heads." Captain Bunderley's bluff style of talking effectually squelched Aleck Parks; and, having learned all he cared to know, the latter soon found a convenient excuse for leaving the party. Luke Phelps, though not so easily affected, was wise enough to take a hint. "Going to stay long in Kingswood, cap'n?" he inquired, at length. "That depends." The skipper shrugged his broad shoulders. "My time is my own. At any rate I'd like to stay until the Rambler Club's ball nine is carrying everything before it." "In that case I'm afraid you'll never get away," murmured Luke, softly.