"This frenzied person on my right means to convey that a young man with a first-class pitching arm will have the inside track with the powers that be," explained the Cristobal captain. "There is Major Glendinning, for instance----" "He is head of the Department of Commissary and Subsistence," chimed in Naughton. "He feeds and clothes the whole Canal Zone. When Cristobal makes a three-bagger he jumps up and down and yells himself hoarse." "But I heard Colonel Gunther himself say that no more Americans were needed down here," said Walter. "That doesn't mean there is to be no more weeding out of undesirables," Naughton explained. "There is still room on our happy little Isthmus for a man who can deliver the goods. I don't want you to infer that the government is hiring ball-players. But as an introduction, Goodwin, you couldn't beat it if you brought letters from eleven United States senators." "Now let's talk base-ball," impatiently interjected a lathy individual in riding breeches and puttees, who had come in from a construction camp somewhere off in the jungle. "We ought to tuck our prize package in bed very early," objected Naughton. "He is as sleepy as a tree full of owls." "Juggling dynamite is no picnic!" and Walter struggled with a yawn. His friends good-naturedly escorted him to the bachelor quarters, where he speedily rolled into his cot and dreamed of fighting a duel with General Quesada, the weapons being base-ball bats. When he reported on board the dynamite ship next morning, Naughton greeted him with a slightly worried air and declared: "I have been thinking it over and perhaps those chaps were right. We have very few accidents with the stuff, but we ought not to run the slightest risk of losing the league championship to Culebra or Ancon." Walter laughed and replied: "This is the best kind of practice for me. If I can keep my nerve and make no errors, I am not likely to be rattled when the bases are full." This argument had weight, although Naughton was still anxious as he strolled to his office. By noon the stiffness had been sweated out of Walter's back and shoulders, and the supple vigor was returning to his good right arm. Shortly before five o'clock the inconsistent Naughton, who lived in daily peril of his life with all the composure in the world, was fairly fidgeting to be off to the base-ball field. A battered victoria and a rat of a Panama pony hurried them thither, and they found Harrison and several other players busy at practice against a background of cocoanut palms and bread-fruit trees. The Cristobal catcher trotted up looking immensely pleased: "Hello, Goodwin, you don't know me," said he, "but my kid brother was on that Elmsford freshman team that you trounced so unmercifully last season. I saw the game. Brewster is my name. When Harrison told me he had been lucky enough to discover you, I chortled for joy."