FAT DAY was captain and pitcher. He was captain because, if he wasnot, he wouldn’t play, and inasmuch as he owned the ball, this would have been disastrous; and he was pitcher because he was captain.

In the North Stars were other pitchers—seven of them! The only member who did not aspire to pitch was Billy Lunt, and as catcher he occupied a place, in “takin’ ’em off the bat,” too delightfully hazardous for him to surrender, and too painful for anybody else to covet.

The organization of the North Stars was effected through verbal contracts somewhat as follows:

“Say, we want you to be in our nine.”

“All right. Will you lemme pitch?”

“Naw; Fat’s pitcher, ’cause he’s captain; but you can play first.”

“Pooh!Fat can’t pitch—”

“I can, too. I can pitch lots better’nyou can, anyhow.” (This from Fat himself.)

“W-well, I’ll play first, then. I don’t care.”

Thus an adjustment was reached.

A proud moment for you was it whenyour merits as a ball-player were recognized, and you were engaged for center-field. Of course, secretly you nourished the strong conviction that you were cut out for a pitcher. Next to pitcher, you preferred short-stop, and next to short-stop, first base. But these positions, and pretty much everything, in fact, had been preempted; so, after the necessary haggling, you accepted center-field.

Speedily the North Star make-up was complete, and disappointed applicants—those too little, too big, too late, or not good enough—were busy sneering about it.

The equipment of the North Star Base-Ball Club consisted of Fat’s “regular league” ball, six bats (owned by various members, and in some cases exercising no small influence in determining fitness of the same for enlistment as recruits), and four uniforms.

Mother made your uniform. To-day you won