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TMfe PUlUrtL cmZfcM. rAut *• 20 ball ” Joe touched the captain on the shoulder cautiously. “See, here, Jim, let me try once,” he said. “Try what?” the captain shot the words a* him like bullets. “Well.” said Joe, “it aint going to hurt now ; they have it all their own wav anyhow. Let me pitch one inning?” The captain mopped the persp iration from his forehead and laughed in derision. “Them guys has got enough on us now, with out putting you out there to make more fun for them,” he said. Joe insisted. “It ain’t goin’ to hurt nothing,” he said “Well,” said Blakesly, the first- baseman, “the game’s lost anyway ; if we can’t win the game, let’s have a little fun. Send him out.” The captain suddenlv pushed Joe. “Go to it,” he said curtly. That was why, like the helmet of King Henry of Navarre, Joe’s head suddenly flamed in the pre sence of the bleachers. Catterwails commenced. One sarcastic young sinner yelled, “Turn on the hose” ; another said, “Johnson will now deliver his famous fadeaway and spit-bail combined.” It was the beginning of the seven th inning. Joe stood like Gibraltar, while the fusilade of howls rol’ea harmlessly off of him. The score stood-Carletown, two; Jonesboro, t welve ; Jonesboro at the bac. “Play ball,” said the umpire. With a sprightly step, one of Jones boro’s best batters took his position at the plate; the fielders went far ther out. Joe stood for an instant teetering on his toes, then twisted in three directions simultaneously as it seemed, and delivered the ball. The batter nearly dislocated his spinal column in a fierce swing, and then looked dazed as the b ill curved cut without being touched. “Strike one,” said the umpire. The dawning of a great hope came into the face of the Jonesboro cap tain, and he rubbed his head as if he thought he was dreaming. A roar swelled up from the rooters Then the confident air of the batter returned; he adjusted himself with alacrity. Joe went through the second series of contortions. The ball left his hand. The batter reach ed far out and swung the bat with a savage motion, but it was a major league in-curve and the umpire called sharply, “Strike t wo.” Then ] pandemonium broke loose; sounds like a steam caliope began; the Jonesboro captain turned three handsprings without stopping. Still it might be accidental, and the crowd watched almost breathless while Joe introduced a new gyra tion and sent in a “fadeaway” ball that bewildered the batter the third time, and he slammed the bat down vehemently as the umpire said. “Three strikes.” After this crowning event of the day, long to be remembered, Jonesboro got the batting punch in them under this I new inspiration, broke down the Carletown pitcher’s guard, and multiplied runs. Joe, with unfail ing regularity and many new dis tortions of his anatomy, placed many unhitable balls around the Carletown batters that they had never dreamed could come from any pitcher’s box. The air palpi tated with the intensity of the feeling The mayor of the town, who was an interested spectator, absent-mindedly put the lighted end of his cigar down the neck of a fat man who was too excited to notice it. It wa« the ninth inning, the score stood, Jonesbore twelve; Carle town twelve. It was the last half of the inning; Carletown at the bat. The third pitcher of the Jones boro team, their last and only hope was in the box. He steadied him self and mystified the batters. Two were struck out; the moment was tense. Joe went to the bat. per spiration streaked his neck ; his shirt was saturated ; there were no cat-calls now. But a single cry rent the air, “You got to be a life boat now, boy, and bring them in.” Joe swung viciously at a slow curve “Strike one.” said the umpire Then the ball came in like a projectile from a German forty- two centimetre gun. The bat flew out of Joe’s hand as he lunged at it and missed. “Strike two,” said the umpire. Joe grinned grimly and spat on his hands and look a death hold on the bat. The pitcher smiled self-cotnpiacently. Jones bore hitched up its belt and looked pleased. The pitcher side stepped and let the ball go. There was a sound like an automatic going-off. The center-fielder started to run backward, looking upas he went, but he could not look over the fence, and that was where the “life boat” THOUGHT Has it ever struck you how your thoughts have to do with you r actions. If we, one and all, gave more of our attentions to the thoughts within us many a misdeed would never have been perpetrated. By this, of course, 1 mean the right kind of attention; the kind that prompts for good, the kind that can see evil in all its hideousness before a deed of wrong is brought to a head. This is the kind of attention we need in order to hold ourselves in check. When one is about to commit crime, whether it be against the laws of God or man ; he must think of a necessity plan ahead. Here, then is where attention should be called—reason be used. How much of misery would be avoided if this advice were follow ed? How much sorrow be elimin ated from our lives? Undoubtedly a great deal. Why, then, should we not use this power, it is ours by Divine right ; the opportunity to use it is just as much under our influence as is the opportunity to blind ourselves to its blessing. In a word, can be explained the reason—why we do not practice it, we submerge attention, we give ear to everything but the still voice of conscienc, we blind ourselves to the good ana see pleasure only in that which is evil, There is but one inevitable result—vve suffer. There is but one solution, we must think ; we must look before we leap, and in so doing avoid the abysmal depths of depair and sor row. —Mack in O P. News. had landed the ball. Joe went like an automobile from base to base, and tore a section out of his iron sers as he slid into the home plate with the winning score. No greater day than that has ever been known in the history of Carl etown. Joe had arrived; the town was his. As a matter of fact, as one of its leading business men, he to day owns some part of it f and still keeps his 1 ice set toward the goal that God fixed for him m the beginning, and presses through the innings of life as one who confidently expects an >ust to make u heavenly home-run. Can You Imagine A Time When Th* Cifire* WiD A Thing of The P*tt7—W #