North

A lean figure walked into a Southern hotel, in the latter part of February, confronted the clerk, who surveyed him dubiously. His suit, shabby and worn as thin as paper, had obviously been made by an inferior tailor; his shirt was old and very dirty; and, in spite of the fact that his face had not been shaved for several days, the clerk could tell at a glance that it was not the countenance of an aristocrat. Before addressing the hotel employe, he respectfully removed from his head a felt hat, and requested a room. He volunteered the information that he had left his wife and children, even fishing from his pocket a photograph of them (spotted with marks that were certainly not tear-stains), which he insisted that the clerk examine. He was, he said, a baseball player. His services had been hired by a famed big league team. He had come for spring practice.

Next day, this "rookie," with his team mates, appeared on a baseball diamond. All over the South, fields "' were crawling with such players. From every cranny of the U. S., they had come, with suitcases of leather, of wicker and with duffle bags; some of them as unprepossessing as the dismal fellow just described, others; indeed, far worse; many brisk, dapper veterans who scorned the scrofulous looks of such unseasoned players and shouted harsh commands at them. They were the company of men--numbering over 500--who play baseball in the American and National Leagues.

Through the long afternoons, they tossed the ball about as only professionals can in spring practice. Small boys seated on neighboring fences , emitted jeering sounds as the famed leaguers juggled, fumbled, panted, struck out. The weeks went by. Mockingbirds sang sweet in the cottonwood trees. The players could hear, in the evening, the strumming of banjo-strings, the warm, drowsy voices of the darkies singing Old Black Joe or perhaps Dem Golden Slippers in the hotel palm room. The jeers of the small boys changed to cries of "Bravo!" For now a different drama was daily to be seen on the dusky diamond.

The ball snapped like a bullet from glove to glove. With practiced ease, players spat, gripped bats and, stepping 'to the plate, sent the pitchers' swiftest offerings in long parabolas to the spaces of verdure behind the outfielders. The agile basemen were "On their toes to , make stops, pickups, putouts and what not. Moundsmen were regaining their speed, sending across curves, fadeaways, fork-balls that baffled the sturdiest batter. Well might loud eurekas issue from the lips of the fence-warmers. The teams, after they had played some practice games against one another, entrained for the North.

More interesting than the standing of any one team at this time of year are the muscles, eyes, tempers and agilities of certain famed players. For, though there are over 500 able individuals en, roled in the two leagues, there is actually only a handful for whom the grand army of snobbish rooters has eyes, for whom hats are thrown, bottles broken, hosannas raised. And of this handful, nine great names are fanfaronaded louder than all others on the bugles of the press.

George Sisler, aged 32, baseman and manager of the St. Louis Browns, graduate of the University of Michigan. Suave, courteous, assured, imperially slim, his genius for baseball was observed as early as 1913 by Barney Dreyfus, astute owner of the Pittsburgh club, who put him under contract before he had come of age. Sisler's father repudiated the contract. St. Louis bid for him. Mr. Dreyfus would not give him up. The controversy, a sensational one, was referred to the National Commission, which finally awarded Sisler to St. Louis. Pittsburgh never forgave him.

Such is the tact of George Sisler, such his control, that never in his career has he resorted to rowdyism to intimidate a refractory umpire. He was suspended only once and then, in 1924, because some supporter of his, enraged when an umpire called a close decision against him, discharged a shower of bottles upon the unfortunate official. He wrote a letter to the President of the American League, was restored to standing.

Two years ago, when he was at the pinnacle of his fame-- leading the American League in batting, in base-running, voted its most valuable player--he took influenza, developed sinus trouble, underwent an operation. His sight was somewhat affected. His right and left eyes ceased to focus evenly; their beams, which should have been parallel, wellnigh met. Thus he came near to being crossed in his career by his own eyes. His batting average of .420 in 1922 sank to .305 in 1924. Now he sees perfectly again, he says. Will he, fans wonder, regain his former prowess? Sisler has three children, a wife. She, shyer than he, has never been photographed.

Ty Cobb, 38, now beginning his 21st season in the American League, has hit over .300 in 18 consecutive seasons. He holds the U. S. base-stealing record of 96 in 1915, has stolen more bases than any man in baseball with the exception of one Billy Hamilton. Cobb is cut to a different last than Sisler. No decorous college graduate he, but a "sandlot" player, a man of fiery mettle. Often-ihc bleachers, true to the tradition of U. S. sportsmanship, have risen in enthusiastic uproar while Cobb stood shoving his jaw-fare nearer and nearer to an umpire's quivering countenance, uttering words whose import could only be guessed by his furious gestures. He, who has rightly been called "the greatest player in baseball," declares that this season will be his last.

Rogers Hornsby, like Sisler, plays for St. Louis, but in the National League. Though only 26, he alone of ball players has averaged over .400 in : batting for four consecutive years; and he holds the extraordinary modern batting record of .423, made in 1924.

Edward Collins, six months younger than Cobb, has been in baseball one year less. Famed for his skill in stealing bases, his worshippers cried out, in 1921, that he was slipping because, that year, he stole only 12. In 1923, he regained leadership of the American League with 49 stolen bases, retained it last year with 42. Without the physical strength of Ruth, Hornsby, Cobb, lie cannot hit as hard, but he has struck out less than any other great player in baseball.

Ray Schalk, 32, Chicago teammate of Collins, is a catcher who, though not bulky, plants himself to receive a throw in the direct path of a runner going home, never budges, though many times in a single game he is rolled on his rump. He has caught more games of baseball than has any other big-leaguer, past or present.

Babe Ruth, 31, swashbuckler of the huge ash bat, is perhaps the most tooted "character in the game. He, with Pugilist Dempsey, is the apotheosis of U. S. he-manhood, adored of millions. In addition to holding all home-run records, he has pitched the greatest number of scoreless World's Series innings, 29, in 1916, 1918.

Walter Johnson, famed Washington pitcher, 37, intended his remarkable performance in the seventh and deciding game of the 1924 World's Series (which his team won from the New York Giants) to stand as the colophon of his major league career. Frustrated (by Washington interests, it is rumored) in his attempt to purchase a minor league club on the Pacific Coast, he has consented to pitch one more season with the Senators.

Stanley ("Bucky") Harris, 28, manager of the team which Johnson so effectively adorns, is an immense drawing card because of his evident cleverness, his youth, his speed as a second baseman, his ability to hit when hits are needed.

Tristram Speaker, manager of the Cleveland team, is a year and a half younger than Cobb, but looks far older. Grizzled, lined, his batting average has been falling off in the last two years, but he still fields with the grace of a nautch-girl. He was the only player who ever broke through Cobb's years of batting supremacy (1907-1919) by leading the American League in 1916.