Excerpt: ""A dandy drive, Peg!" "Good for a two-bagger, any day!" "Look at him cover ground, will you?" "Nobody'd believe Peg limps when he walks, to see him hustle like that in a game of ball!" "Look out, Peg, he's going to get you at second!" "Slide, Peg! Slide, old scout!" Amidst a cloud of dust "Peg" Fosdick went down safely to second, the ball arriving just as he clutched the bag with his outstretched hand. Peg arose to his feet, brushed himself off, and waved a hand to his cheering mates on the side that was just then at bat. Cliffwood boys were having a glorious time on the green devoted to outdoor sports. Still, after all, these were only two scrub teams; for, somehow, up to the present time the bustling mill town on the Sweetbriar river had never mustered up enough energy to put a regular representative nine worthy of support in the field. Neighboring places, such as Creston, Emoryville, and Barrtown, boasted good teams, and the boys of Cliffwood often found themselves openly taunted on account of their lack of zeal in the matter. "But things are liable to change from now on!" declared one of the boys on the bench, when casual mention of this lamentable fact was made. "It's time Cliffwood woke up from this Rip Van Winkle sleep, and made its mark in the world." "That time is going to come right away," asserted the pitcher of his nine, a vigorous lad, Dick Horner by name, and who seemed to be a leader among the boys."