Today's Stichomancy for James Cameron

the outfielder forgot his surroundings. He ran across the foul line, head up, hair flying, unheeding the warning cry from Healy. And, reaching up to make his crowning circus play, he smashed face forward into the bleachers fence. Then, limp as a rag, he dropped. The audience sent forth a long groan of sympathy.

``That wasn't one of his stage falls,'' said Delaney. ``I'll bet he's dead. . . . Poor Reddy! And I want him to bust his face!''

Clammer was carried off the field into the dressing

The Redheaded Outfield

an antique at all -- but I can just feel the personality vibrating from it.

I got it at a bargain, too.

I call her -- the picture, you know -- after an an- cestress of mine who came to this country in the old Colonial days.

With William the Conqueror, you know -- or maybe it was William Penn. But it couldn't have been William Penn, could it? For she went to New Jersey -- Orange, N.J. Was it William of Orange? More than likely . . .

influence over the child and made her tell all; she let her know that she had money enough now for all three, and promised that Brigaut should live with them. The poor girl admitted her martyrdom, not imagining the events to which her admissions would give rise. The monstrosity of two beings without affection and without conception of family life opened to the old woman a world of woe as far from her knowledge as the morals of savages may have seemed to the first discoverers who set foot in America.

The arrival of her grandmother, the certainty of living with her in comfort soothed Pierrette's mind as the sleeping draught soothed her body. The old woman watched her darling, kissing her forehead, hair,