Mark was anxious to see the American players more closely. As we know, he had always been a good ball player and had been the captain of the team at Lakeview Academy, beating Hockley for that position by several votes, much to the bully’s discomfiture. Now he worked his way through the crowd close to the American players’ “bench,” in this case an awning spread to shade a certain spot on the grass to the right of the home plate. The ball players were all about Mark’s age, one or two a little older, and seemed to be a jolly set. But as Mark came nearer so did one of the team and his face wore a serious expression. “Ronaldson is no better,” Mark heard him tell the others. “Complains of terrible cramps.” “Is he going to try to play?” asked one of the other players. “Yes, but I don’t know how long he will last.” “Then you’ll have to use Blackney.” “I suppose so, but he’s got a sore hand and can’t half catch. We need a good man on second base. The Palmas are going to do their best to win this game.” The talk interested Mark greatly and it aroused the baseball fever in his veins. He caught the eye of one of the players and beckoned to him. “Are any of you fellows from New York state?” he asked. “Yes, Len Gardell is from Rochester,” was the answer. “I come from New York city,” went on Mark. “I’m an old ball player--used to be captain of the Lakeview Academy nine of New Hampshire. We once played a team from Rochester--the Silver Stars. Can I speak to Mr. Gardell? My name is Mark Robertson.” “Why, certainly, Mr. Robertson,” said the ball player, and held out his hand. “My name is Bob Lee. I’m from Atlanta, Georgia. We put ourselves down as from Florida for we have been playing there--at several of the big hotels.” And a minute later Mark was introduced to all of the team and made to feel quite at home. Having finished their chat with Isabel Valois and her companions, the others made their way to the stand and found the seats assigned to them. Soon all of the baseball players were out on the diamond and the game began with the Cuban team at the bat. “It’s funny Mark doesn’t come,” said Darry. “He always thinks so much of a ball game.” “He went off to see the players,” answered Frank. He looked toward the “bench.” “I declare there he is now, talking to one of the substitute players!” “Then he’s at home,” laughed Darry. “You won’t get him back here, unless the umpire drives him from the field.” When Hockley saw Mark sitting on the “bench” he was green with envy. “Always getting in,” he muttered to himself. “That’s just the way he got in on me at the academy! Confound the luck!” And then Hockley tried to get on the field himself, but was ordered back by one of the policemen stationed there to keep the crowd in bounds. The boys had already learned that this game was the last of a series of three. Each club had already won one game. A prize of a silver cup and half of the gate money were to go to the winner of the series.