The new manager of the Blue Stockings has been getting busy. By good authority we are informed that he has traded Center Fielder Herman Brock for two of Ben Frazer's youngsters, King and Keeper. Through this deal he has obtained a catcher and a third baseman, but has opened up a hole in the outfield big enough to roll an _Imperator_ cargo of base hits through. Of course, the gaping wounds of the Stockings must be plugged, but it seems like bad surgery to inflict further mutilation in order to fill the gashes already made. And when it comes to driving in scores when they count, we predict that old Herman and his swatstick are going to be lamented. Keeper is more or less of an unknown quantity. It's true that Brick King, in condition, is an excellent backstop and a good hitter, but it must not be forgotten that he has not played since he was injured last August. And, incidentally, it should be remembered that Ben Frazer has a head as long as a tape measure. An expert appraiser should be called in to inspect any property on which Frazer shows a disposition to relinquish his grip. It is a good, even-money proposition that old Ben and the Wolves will get their hooks into the World's Series boodle again this year. Lefty smiled over this, his lips curling a bit scornfully. The opening of the real baseball season was yet a long distance away, but the newspaper writers were compelled to grind out a required amount of "dope" each day, and were working hard to keep up their average. Some of them were clever and ingenious in their phrasing, but nearly all of them betrayed a lack of originality or courage in forming and expressing individual opinions. The Wolves had won the pennant and the world's championship last season, and up to date they had been damaged less than any club in organized ball by the raids of the Federals; some wise pen pusher had therefore predicted that the Wolves would cop the bunting again, and was supported in this opinion by all the little fellows, who ran, bleating, after the wise one, like a flock of sheep chasing a bellwether. It was evident that, with no apparent exceptions, this bleating flock looked on the Blue Stockings as a drifting derelict that was due to be blown up and sunk. For Locke they had only pity and mild contempt because he had permitted himself to be dragged into the impossible attempt to salvage the worthless hulk. Even old Ben Frazer, than whom none was reckoned more keen and astute, had expressed such a sentiment without concealment. A weak man would have felt some qualms; Lefty felt none. He had not sought the job; in a way, fate had thrust it upon him; and now the more unsurmountable the difficulties appeared the stronger he became to grapple with them. Like a soldier going into battle, exulted and fired by a high and lofty purpose, his heart sang within him.