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named Keating and a stocky pink-cheeked boy named Lawrence were the baseball enthusiasts of the Fourth Form; they happened to be assigned seats at the same table and early came to know one another. In all the study recesses they would be out passing a ball back and forth; in the afternoons they collected their friends and had scrub games in a corner of the big athletic field.

Edward was much the best of them; he had caught on a nine that summer at the seashore, he had a keen eye, and was a naturally free, hard hitter — and besides he loved the game. So in a very few days he had established himself as the baseball leader of the form; and now and then some of the older fellows would pause to look on at those Fourth Form contests and would carry the word to Bell and Payne that the youngsters were pretty good, and that Crashaw anyway was a real ball-player.

“I tell you what I’d like to do,” said Edward one afternoon as he walked with Lawrence and Keating down to the field. “I’d