And at night when, harrassed and worried by the embarrassments and perplexities of the day, the magnate seeks needed rest, thoughts of other trials, troubles and tribulations force themselves upon his mind, driving sleep from his tired eyelids. And, if perchance sweet sleep shall come to restore in part his wasted energies, that ever-ready instrument of torture, the telephone, is used by the ubiquitous reporter to call him and ask for the line-up of to-morrow's game.
The magnate must be a strong man among strong men, else other club owners in the league will combine in their own interests against him and his interests, and by collusion force him out of the game.
Nor is the league official exempt from his woes. As a magnate of magnates, he comes in for his tribulations, too. He, also, is called upon to act as "buffer." Indeed, that seems to be his special calling. He must not only stand between the players and managers and magnates of his league, but, if a member of the Commission, he must at times receive the jolts of players and managers and magnates of all the leagues, major and minor, and what he does not learn of trouble in the politics, management and playing of the game, and in the administration of discipline, he may find in the hospital for the insane to which his trials are likely to drive him.
Are these pictures here presented of the vexations of magnates overdrawn? Are they mere phantasies of the imagination? Let us see. Only a short time ago Harry C. Pulliam, the bright young President of the National League, put the muzzle of a revolver to his head and ended
