As the noisy crowd poured in, filling the bleachers, and more slowly the grandstand, he thrilled to think what it would mean to him to play there.

Then when the thought came of what little chance he had, the old heartsickness weighed him down again. By and by he would ask to see the manager, but for the moment he wanted to put off the inevitable.

He stood in the aisle between the grandstand and bleachers, leaning over the fence to watch the players. A loud voice attracted him. He turned to see a very large, florid man, wearing a big diamond, addressing a small man whose suit of clothes was as loud as the other fellow's voice.

' "Hey, Mac, what's the matter with this bunch of dead ones you've got? Eleven straight games lost ! You're now in third place, and dropping fast, after starting out to set the pace. Findlay won't stand for it."

The little man bit savagely at the cigar, tilting it up in line with his stub nose; and the way he frowned lowered the brim of his hat. " Shure, it's a slump, Mr. Beekman," he said, in conciliating tones. "Now, you know the game; you're up; you're up on the fine points. You ain't like most of them wooden-headed directors. The boys ain't been hittin'. Castorious is my only pitcher whose arm ain't gone lame this cold spell. I've been weak at short-stop all this Spring. But we'll come round, now you just take that from me, Mr. Beekman."

The pompous director growled something and went on up to the grandstand steps. Then a very tall fellow with wide, sloping shoulders and red hair accosted the little man.

" Say Mac, what was he beefing about?

I heard him speak my name. Did he have his hammer out?"

" Hello, Cas. No, Beekman ain't knockin' you. He was knockin' me. Sore on me, because we're losin'."

"If some of those stiffs would stay away from the grounds and stop telling us how to play the game we'd sooner break our bad streak. Are you going to work me today?"

" How's your arm? "

" Good. It's getting strong. What I need is work. When I get my speed I'll make these puff-hitters lay down their bats."

With that Castorious swaggered into the dressing-room under the grandstand, followed by the little manager. Chase left his post, went to the door, hesitated when he saw the place full of ball players in the various stages of dressing, and then entered and walked straight up to the manager.

" I heard you say you needed a shortstop. Will you give me a chance?"

He spoke distinctly, so that every one in the room heard him. The manager looked up to speak when Castorious bawled out:

" Fellows, herehe is ! He 's been camping on our trail. I said somebody had Jonahed us. It's the crooked-eyed hoodoo!"

Ball players are superstitious, and are like sheep, inasmuch that they follow one another. The uproar that succeeded upon Castorious's discovery showed two characteristic traits - the unfailing propensity of the players to make game of any one, and the real anxiety with which they regarded any of the signs or omens traditionally disastrous. How well they recognized Chase showed the manner in which they followed anything written about baseball.

"Hello, there, Chaseaway ! " "Where's your pants?"

" Hoodoo ! " "Jonah!" "Don't look at me with that eye." "To the woods for yours!"

Chase stood there bravely, with the red mantling his face, waiting for the manager to speak.