"By Jupiter, they're almost falling over themselves," jeered Nat. "I want to hear some of the soft stuff they hand out. Bet they'll have a tremolo in their voices." Nat Wingate had the ability to provoke a wrangle at almost any moment. A hot flush mounted to Tom's face. He was too eager, however, to learn the reason for Mr. Barry's descent upon the ball field to reply. In and out through the noisy groups he led the way, soon hearing above the medley of sound the harsh, rasping voice of Kingswood's eccentric citizen. "I never could understand why boys have to make such a confounded racket while they're playing ball," he jerked out, impatiently. "Good energy all gone to waste. Lie down, Canis!" The yellow dog seemed to have taken a great dislike to the proceedings going on all about him, and was giving voice to this feeling by a series of savage snarls and barks. "Long distance conversation for me," laughed Wingate. "His ivories seem to be in good working condition." "I'll bet he's as yellow inside as out," chuckled Tom. "One good kick----" "And any hope for your ball field would be gone forever." "Don't stop for me, Somers." Mr. Barry was speaking. He waved a large, knotty cane peremptorily in the direction of the outfield. "Get right back to your place." His stick struck sharply against the wooden fence. "Here, here, you boys over there: quit that howling; quit it, I say!" [Illustration: "GET RIGHT BACK TO YOUR PLACE"] The students who had been applauding a difficult pick-up by Charlie Blake obeyed his authoritative command. "That's better. What's the use of howling like a pack of young pirates?" "If it ain't any use, it's lots of fun, mister." A stocky, freckle-faced boy, handling a very large bat, gave this answer. "And sometimes it puts a whole lot of ginger into the crowd," he added. "What's your name?" "Joe Rodgers." "Do you go to the high school? Keep quiet, Canis!" "Not yet, sir." "Then why are you practicing on this field?" "'Cause they let me." "As bold as brass," murmured Mr. Barry, in audible tones. "Somers, I believe I requested you to keep right on with your playing." Mr. Barry looked at the captain of the nine as sternly as though he were some culprit caught trespassing on his field. The afternoon sun played on an angular, smooth-shaven face and a pair of cold gray eyes. There was nothing in his expression to indicate any great sympathy with youth or their pastimes. But it was observable that, even as he spoke, his gaze was continually shifting from one group to another. "This is the first day we have practiced outside of the gym, Mr. Barry," began Bob. "You see it was such a bully day----" "I must request that you eliminate such words as 'bully' when addressing me," interrupted the visitor, stiffly. "Would you like to have a little bat-out and catch, Mr. Barry?" asked Nat Wingate, in a very innocent tone.