The spectator., 1919-03-07
lawnce corporal in the Royal Irish

Rifles."
 According to Stewards look, that Tommy should have immediately dropped dead.
 Turning to the next, he said, "'Cur. ly,' for the love O Mike, who is he?"' Curly, with a knowing look, an swered, "'E runs the Kings Arms public 'ouse, down Rye lane." With piteous look, Stewart glanced my way and I jerked my thumb in the direction of the other Tommy, who seemed to be bursting with suppressed eagerness. Stewart, looking at him. calculated, "Spit it out before you choke"
 This fellow, with a superior air, turned in the direction of the two de- jected Tommies, and answered, "John MacGraw, why everybody knows i'm e was the fellow in the London Scot tish who clicked 'crucifixion' for stealing the rum issue at 'Wipers'. 'E was lad, not 'arf he weren't"
 A hissing noise issued from Stew. arts lips, and he seemed to collapse like a punctured toy balloon. After a few seconds he strengthened up and look of determination came into his eyes. Addressing the Tommies, he exploded: You blokes are enough to make Billy Sunday take to drink. Now, listen here. and let it sink in deep. John McGraw is the manager of the New York Giants. He is baseball player; get 1t? A baseball player. A guy what manages baseball team. And any fellows who can't make good on his team, or in the bush leagues, he sends lem cricket bat with their name inscribed on it and pays their passage to England. Get mel"
 Several Tommies took exception to this, and said that they had followed cricket all their lives, but had never heard of any American cricketers be- ing sent over by Mir. McGraw. At this I exploded, and Stewart went up in the air. Standing up and turning to the bunch under the trees, point ing his finger in their direction. he let out:
 "Now listen, this is good. I'm go- ing to send down to the ordnance corps and get dozen gimlets and some tunnels. With these gimlets I'm going to bore holes in your 'nappers,' and using the funnel I'm going to pour into those garrets of yours little brains. Then, after you've acquired gray matter, I'm going to teach you the great American game of baseball; and then when through teaching you, I'm going to retire to the Old Soldiers home as physically and mentally un- fit, because I know the job will put me there."
 The Tommies did not take excep- tion to his pointed remarks about their lack of brains. They overlooked this because they were very eager to learn how to play baseball.
 A chorus of. "Go to hit. Tank, that's what We want; something new out ere in this bloody mess of mud and 'cOotieS.'"
 Stewart said that we would have to talk the matter over, and beckOninG to me. went in the direction of the billet. l followed. He then outlined his scheme.
 classes, Stewart in charge of one, the other. On the plaster of the billet wc carefully scratched out baseball diamond. and then called the TommieS in. They sat around like little chil- dren in school. eagerly intent. For two hours we explained the game to them. When we got through they all knew how to play baseball-on paper. We dismissed them, telling them an- other class would be held the follow ing afternoon. That night, Stewart and I, around the stump of candle, went into details for organizing two teams. Everything appeared rosy, and we were highly jubilant. A Tommy eased over in our direction and inno- gently asked:
 "I sye, Tank, isn't 1t necessary to lave byseballs and clubs? We cawnt very well ply without 'em."
 This was a bombshef to us. In our eagerness and excitement we had quite forgotten that bats, balls and gloves were necessary. thought Stewart was going to burst. Letting out "Well. I'll be blowed !" which nearly blew the candle out, he turned a silly look in my direction, and looked just as cheap.
 At last the Tommies had stumped us. and we could see our reputation fading into nothing. A dead silence reigned for over five minutes. Then Stewart started madly to open his hay ersack. I thought he had suddenly gone crazy. reached my hand in the direction of my bayonet. fearing that he was looking for a Mills bomb. When he drew his hand out, hanging to his fist was a writing pad. I let go of my bayonet. Borrowing a pencil from me Stewart was always borrow ing), he started writing. thought per haps he was going to commit suicide