and, though he never meant it, had aroused the boy's soul to a sudden conception of duty. And Ralph had seen the path beyond, clear and distinct.
It seemed to him as if with one wave of his hand he had swept aside all the fervid dreams of boyhood, formed a resolution, set his mark, and was started in that very minute on a brand-new life.
Ralph did not slacken his gait until he reached a square easily identified as a much used ball grounds.
Over in one corner was a flat, rambling structure. It had once been somebody's home, had fallen into decay and vacancy. The club had rented it for a nominal sum, fixed it up a bit, and this was headquarters.
Over the door hung the purple pennant of the club, bearing in its center a broad, large "C." In the doorway sat Ned Talcott, an ambitious back-stop, who spent most of his time about the place, never tired of the baseball atmosphere.
He looked curiously at Ralph's flustered appearance, but the latter nodded silently, passed inside, and then called out:
"Come in here, Ned—I want to see you."
Ned was by his side in a jiffy. An enthusiast, he fairly worshiped his expert whole-souled cap-
