CONCERNING THE "NICEST FELLOWS"
as "Haskell, the great catcher"—and as nothing else. It's hard for you to realize it from where you stand, with your nose up against athletics, so to speak, but it's hard luck for a grown man who has been out of college a tenth of a century to have no other identity than the one he had as a yawping undergraduate.
Well, in desperation, Haskell dropped in at Alfred Mortimer's one day and, after waiting his turn in line, was shown into Mortimer's private office. They weren't friends, but had been in college at the same time.
"For Heaven's sake, Mortimer," said Haskell in his direct manner, "isn't there something you can give me to do to earn a living?"
Now Mortimer was a very inconspicuous looking little man and had a soft, thin voice. "Why, Mr. Haskell," he said with a queer gleam in his eye, "I didn't suppose you knew my name. You never seemed to be aware of my existence in college."
Haskell, laughed. "I am now," he said,
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