The crowd turned out loyally to witness the opening game on the home grounds, but even the most hopeful among the fans permitted their courage to be tinged with pessimism. They were in that state of mind that would lead their sympathies easily to turn to the opposition. True, they hailed Lefty cheerfully and encouragingly from the stands and bleachers, but they could not have the faith in him as a manager that they had had as a pitcher. They were stirred, however, by the sight of old Jack Kennedy, and they gave him a rousing cheer. It warmed the cockles of the veteran's heart. He doffed his cap to them. Frazer came over from the visitors' bench and shook hands with Locke and Kennedy. "I hope," said Ben, "that you're going to give us a crack at that dummy speed merchant to-day, Lefty. We want to see if he is a real pitcher." Coming forth from the home team's dugout, a swarthy small man, who wore knickerbockers and a wrist watch, overheard these words. "Bo-lieve me, Frazy," said Cap'n Wiley, "you'll never ask for him again with any great avidity after you face him once. I hope you'll excuse me for butting in and making that statement without the polite formality of an introduction to you, but I am so impetuous! I'm the proud party who sold Jonesy to Lefty. Shortly after that little transaction I was unnecessarily worried lest he should decide to abandon baseball, but he has just informed me that, having succeeded in giving away the last of an infinitesimal fortune of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, he is now excruciatingly happy and ready to follow pitching as a profession." Frazer looked the odd character over tolerantly. "So you're the party who bunkoed Lefty, are you?" He laughed. "You're very much in evidence before the game begins, but I fancy it'll be difficult to find you with a microscope when it's finished--if Locke has the nerve to pitch your dummy wonder." "I think I'll start him on the hill, at any rate," said the manager of the Blue Stockings. Apparently Wiley started to cheer, but checked himself abruptly. "I'll conserve my vocal cords," he tittered. "I doubt not that my voice will be frazzled to a husky whisper before the contest terminates. Take a tip from me, Mr. Frazer, and send your premier twirler on to the firing line. Smoke Jordan's the only pitcher you have who can make the game interesting with Jones pastiming for the Stockings." "Jordan has asked to pitch," returned Ben, "but I have half a dozen others who would do just as well." Locke was passing in front of the section occupied by the newspaper men when Stillman called to him. "I don't see your wife here, nor Miss Collier," said the reporter. "I looked for both to be on hand for the opening game on the home grounds."