By Robert J. Burdette
Early in the afternoon of the same day， Mr. Holliday camehome bearing a large package in his arms. Not only seldom， butrarely， did anything come into the Holliday homestead that didnot afford the head of the family a text for sermonic instruction，if not， indeed， rational discourse. Depositing the package upon ahall table， he called to his son in a mandatory manner：
“Rollo， come to me.”
Rollo approached， but started with reluctant steps. Hebecame reminiscently aware as he hastily reviewed the eventsof the day， that in carrying out one or two measures for thegood of the house， he had laid himself open to an investigationby a strictly partisan committee， and the possibility of suchan inquiry， with its subsequent report， grieved him. However，he hoped for the worst， so that in any event he would not bedisagreeably disappointed， and came running to his father，calling “Yes， sir！” in his cheeriest tones.
This is the correct form in which to meet any possibleadversity which is not yet in sight. Because， if it should notmeet you， you are happy anyhow， and if it should meet you，you have been happy before the collision. See？
“Now， Rollo，” said his father， “you are too large and strongto be spending your leisure time playing baby games with yourlittle brother Thanny. It is time for you to begin to be athletic.”
“What is athletic？” asked Rollo.
“Well，” replied his father， who was an alumnus （pronouncedahloomnoose） himself， “in a general way it means to wear apair of pantaloons either eighteen inches too short or six inchestoo long for you， and stand around and yell while other men doyour playing for you. The reputation for being an athlete mayalso be acquired by wearing a golf suit to church， or carrying atennis racket to your meals. However， as I was about to say， Ido not wish you to work all the time， like a woman， or even asmall part of the time， like a hired man. I wish you to adopt foryour recreation games of sport and pastime.”
Rollo interrupted his father to say that indeed he preferredgames of that deion to games of toil and labor， but as heconcluded， little Thanny， who was sitting on the porch stepwith his book， suddenly read aloud， in a staccato measure.
“I-be-lieve-you-my-boy，-re-plied-the-man-heart-i-ly.”
“Read to yourself， Thanny，” said his father kindly， “and donot speak your syllables in that jerky manner.”
Thanny subsided into silence， after making two or threestrange gurgling noises in his throat， which Rollo， after severalefforts， succeeded in imitating quite well. Being older thanThanny， Rollo， of course， could not invent so many new noisesevery day as his little brother. But he could take Thanny’snoises， they being unprotected by copyright， and not onlyreproduce them， but even improve upon them.
This shows the advantage of the higher education. “A littlelearning is a dangerous thing.” It is well for every boy to learnthat dynamite is an explosive of great power， after which it isstill better for him to learn of how great power. Then he willnot hit a cartridge with a hammer in order to find out， andwhen he dines in good society he can still lift his pie gracefullyin his hand， and will not be compelled to harpoon it with aniron hook at the end of his fore-arm.
Rollo’s father looked at the two boys attentively as theyswallowed their noises， and then said：
“Now， Rollo， there is no sense in learning to play a man’sgame with a toy outfit. Here are the implements of a gamewhich is called base-ball， and which I am going to teach you toplay.”
So saying he opened the package and handed Rollo a bat， awagon tongue terror that would knock the leather off a planet，and Rollo’s eyes danced as he balanced it and pronounced it a“la-la.”
“It is a bat，” his father said sternly， “a base-ball bat.”
“Is that a base-ball bat？” exclaimed Rollo， innocently.
“Yes， my son，” replied his father， “and here is a protector forthe hand.”
Rollo took the large leather pillow and said：
“That’s an infielder.”
“It is a mitt，” his father said， “and here is the ball.”
As Rollo took the ball in his hands he danced with glee.
“That’s a peach，” he cried.
“It is a base-ball，” his father said， “that is what you playbase-ball with.”
“Is it？” exclaimed Rollo， inquiringly.
“Now，” said Mr. Holliday， as they went into the back yard，followed by Thanny， “I will go to bat first， and I will let youpitch， so that I may teach you how. I will stand here at theend of the barn， then when you miss my bat with the ball， asyou may sometimes do， for you do not yet know how to pitchaccurately， the barn will prevent the ball from going too far.”
“That’s the back-stop，” said Rollo.
“Do not try to be funny， my son，” replied his father， “inthis great republic only a President of the United States ispermitted to coin phrases which nobody can understand. Now，observe me； when you are at bat you stand in this manner.”
And Mr. Holliday assumed the attitude of a timid man whohas just stepped on the tail of a strange and irascible dog， andis holding his legs so that the animal， if he can pull his tail out，can escape without biting either of them. He then held the batup before his face as though he was carrying a banner.
“Now， Rollo， you must pitch the ball directly toward theend of my bat. Do not pitch too hard at first， or you will tireyourself out before we begin.”
Rollo held the ball in his hands and gazed at it thoughtfullyfor a moment； he turned and looked at the kitchen windows asthough he had half a mind to break one of them； then wheelingsuddenly he sent the ball whizzing through the air like a bullet.
It passed so close to Mr. Holliday’s face that he dropped thebat and his grammar in his nervousness and shouted：
“What are you throw nat？ That’s no way to pitch a ball！
Pitch it as though you were playing a gentleman’s game； not asthough you were trying to kill a cat！ Now， pitch it right here；right at this place on my bat. And pitch more gently； the firstthing you know You’ll sprain your wrist and have to go to bed.
Now， try again.”