William Frost was the name of the player in question, though, of course, his schoolmates generally called him "Jack." "And Tony Tippen has an inshoot that would make the Cannon Ball Express look like a slow freighter," laughed Nat. "Gee, I wish the next two weeks would roll around fast. I guess you high school fellows are in for a pretty hard jolt. We hate to do it, too, for this is a mighty poor ball field, and a few lambastings will probably knock all that fine Rupert Barry business in the head." "Oh, it will, eh?" sniffed Spearman. "Next season the Purple and White team will be using that new ball park, and we'll have a grand stand, besides." "Sorry to have to put that happy train of thought off the track," chuckled Nat. "Have you forgotten the Goose Hill crowd and a few others?" "It wouldn't faze us if they were major leaguers." "Hello, you 'Pie-eaters'; hello! Where's the rest of the 'Doughnut' crowd?" This hail, coming in very gruff tones from the tall sprinter who had excited Earl Roycroft's admiration, made Nat Wingate's eyes glitter ominously. "The nerve of that Tom Clifton is getting my nerve," he commented, in a low tone. "It beats me how some of the chaps are willing to swallow all he hands out." "He doesn't seem to like the idea of us swallowing pie," laughed Roycroft. By this time the tallest senior in the school had almost reached the group. Tom Clifton, bubbling over with good spirits, eyed Nat quizzically. "Still making the pies over at Guffin's do the disappearing act?" he asked. "Yes! And the doughnuts are following the same route." "How is it that Kirk Talbot didn't come over to see us practicing?" "Kirk had something more important on hand. He went to a moving picture show instead." "I'll bet it was a nickel one," snickered Tom. "We're getting ready for your crowd, Nat. Thanks, Roycroft! I can go some. I'll do better yet. Wait till you see me making the circuit of the bases. And when we get that new field--well! We'll make some of the 'Pie-eaters and doughnut crowd' lose their appetites." Tom Clifton's gaze roved over the rather uneven field, which was situated some distance from the rear of the Kingswood High School. Great patches of weeds and small saplings had been leveled to the ground and hollow places filled in by the willing hands of the boys. But even all the zeal and enthusiasm with which they had worked could not make the result of their labor a joy and delight. This particular field seemed to have a grudge against all athletic sports. Treacherous little bumps or depressions, as well as other irregularities, had often spoiled what might have been brilliant plays.