go.”

“Well,” said McRae, “if everybody’s foresight in baseball was as good as his hindsight, there’d be no trading done. I don’t mind saying that I throw out my chest a little for having seen what was in the kid. He’s certainly been the making of the team.”

“One thing is certain; and that is that you wouldn’t have the World’s Championship tucked away if it hadn’t been for his great work in the Series,” rejoined Robson. “He just had those Chicago birds eating out of his hand.”

“Right you are,” admitted McRae. “Here’s hoping he’ll repeat this season.”

“Don’t worry a bit about that,” was Robson’s confident answer. “You can see for yourself that he’s been going great guns in practice. And even at that he hasn’t been letting himself out. He’s taking good care of that old soup-bone of his.”

“He was never better in his life,” declared McRae. “I’ll admit that I was a little worried for fear that the trip around the world had taken something out of him. You know what a strain he was under in that All-Star League affair, Robbie. But it hasn’t seemed to affect him at all.”

“He’ll need all he’s got this year,” said Robbie thoughtfully. “We’ll have to depend more on the pitching than we did last year, because we’re not so strong on the batting end. When Burkett quit, it took away a good deal of our hitting strength, and you’ve seen that Mylert is slipping. On the form he’s shown in practice this spring, he won’t be good for more than a two hundred and fifty per cent average, and that’s about sixty points below what he showed last year.”

“I know it,” agreed the manager, a worried look coming into his face. “And what makes it worse is that Larry, too, is slow in rounding into form. Instead of lining them out, he’s sending them up in the air. He’ll be just pie for the fielders if he keeps it up. I can’t understand the thing at all.”

“Oh, well,” said Robbie, whose jolly disposition never let him stay long under a cloud, “here’s hoping that they’ll come to the scratch when the season opens. Some of the rookies look pretty good to me, and if the old-timers fall down we may be able to fill their places all right. Come along, Mac; let’s finish working out that schedule for the trip north. We’ll have to get a hustle on to be in shape to start to-morrow.”

McRae gave the signal to his men that practice time was over, and the young athletes, nothing loth to drop their work and get down to the hotel for dinner, began to gather up their bats preparatory to jumping into the bus which was waiting outside the grounds. But before they got to it, McRae and Robson had climbed in and given the signal to the driver to start.

“No, you don’t!” he called out with a grin, as the bus started away. “You fellows leg it down to the hotel. It’s only two miles, and you need the exercise. Get a move on, or Robbie and I will clear the table before you get there.”

There were grunts and groans from the players, for the sun was warm and the practice had been strenuous. But there was no help for it, and they dropped into a dog trot that was quickened by the thought of the dinner that was waiting for them at the end of the journey.

They reached the hotel in good time, took a shower bath, changed into their regular clothes, and were soon at the table with an appetite that swept the board and made the colored waiters roll their eyes in wonder, not unmixed with awe.

After the meal was finished, Joe and Jim were on their way to the room they shared together when they passed McRae and Robbie, who were sitting in the lobby enjoying their after-dinner cigars.

McRae beckoned to them, and they went over to where the pair was sitting.

“Well, boys,” said the manager, as he motioned to a couple of chairs into which they dropped, “our spring practice is over and I don’t mind saying that I’m feeling good over the way you fellows ate up your work. Both of you look as fit as fiddles.”

“That’s sure the way we feel,” answered Joe, and Jim murmured acquiescence.

“In fact you look so good,” went on McRae, knocking the ashes from his cigar and settling back comfortably in his chair, “that I’m going to call training finished, as far as you two are concerned. Just now you’re right at the top of your form, and I don’t want to take any chances on your going stale. So I’m going to let you rest up for the next week or ten days. All you have to do is to take good care of yourselves—and I know you boys well enough to be sure you’ll do that—and turn up in shape when the season opens week after next.”

Joe and Jim looked at each other, and the same thought was in the mind of each. This seemed too good to be true!

“We start north to-morrow,” went on McRae, “in two lots, playing minor league teams on the way to keep in practice. The regulars will go along with me, while Robbie will take the second string men and the rookies. We’ll jog along in easy fashion and hope to reach the Polo Grounds in the pink of condition.”

By this time Joe had found his voice. He smiled broadly.

“That’s mighty good of you, Mac,” he said. “I suppose you want us then to go right through to New York.”

“That’s the idea,” replied the manager. “Robbie will see to your transportation this afternoon.”

But just here, Robson, who had been watching the boys’ faces, broke into a laugh.

“For the love of Mike, wake up Mac!” he adjured his friend. “Don’t you know that Joe lives only a couple of hundred miles from here right over the border? And don’t you remember those two pretty girls that were with us on the World Tour? And didn’t we hear Joe telling Jim a few days ago that his sweetheart was visiting his folks? And here you are sending the lads straight through to New York with never a stop on the way. Mac, old man, I’m ashamed of you.”

McRae grinned as he looked at the faces of the young men—faces that had grown suddenly red.

“Robbie hit the nail on the head, did he?” he said, with a chuckle. “Well, I’m Irishman enough to have a soft spot in my heart for the lads and their colleens. Fix it up, boys, to suit yourselves. As long as you report on time, that’s all I ask. Get along with you now, as Robbie and I have got to fix up our routes.”

Joe and Jim were only too glad to “get along,” and after thanking McRae hurried to their room, where they indulged in a wild war dance.

“Glory, hallelujah!” shouted Joe. “A whole week or more to ourselves, and home only two hundred miles away!”

“Your home is,” replied Jim. “Mine’s more than a thousand miles away.”

“You old sardine!” cried Joe, throwing a book at his head. “Isn’t my home yours? Do you think I’d dare show my face there without bringing you along? Clara would never forgive me. Neither would Mabel. Neither would Momsey nor Dad. Get a wiggle on now, old man, and hunt up a time-table.”

Jim, with his face jubilant at the thought of soon seeing Joe’s pretty sister, hustled about for the time-table; and with heads close together the young men were soon poring over the schedules. At last Joe straightened up with a vexed exclamation.

“Of all the roundabout ways!” he ejaculated. “We’ll have to change three or four different times with all sorts of bad connections, and can’t reach Riverside until to-morrow afternoon.”

“Wait a minute,” said Jim, running his pencil along a column. “Here’s a line that will get us to Martinsville early to-morrow morning, just before daylight. How far is Martinsville from Riverside?”