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Recently a catalogue in continuation of Dr. Cogswell's, bringing the work down to the end of 1880, has been prepared, and is being printed at the Riverside Press, Boston. The current card catalogue is arranged on the dictionary plan, giving author and subject under one alphabet. Opposite each title is written the number of the alcove and the letter designating the shelf.
Perhaps a month, three weeks of which would be used for recruiting and drill, the last week for the fracas itself. Nobody could excel Marshal Cogswell in using the three weeks to best advantage. Major Joe Mauser came to attention before the desk of the lieutenant colonel of Marshal Cogswell's staff who was acting as receptionist before the sanctum sanctorum of the field genius.
Phillips says, "with a shallow drawer; I have often seen it half full of sketches, unfinished poems, soliloquies, a scene or two of a play, prose portraits of some pet character, etc. These he would read to me, though he never volunteered to do so, and every now and then he burnt the whole and began to fill the drawer again." My friend, Mr. Cogswell's school at Round Hill.
And when he wants somebody, he really wants 'em, and I got a feeling it's a good idea to come on the double." Joe laughed. "Stonewall Cogswell's a tough one all right, Max." "You ain't just a countin' down, major, sir. He says when I get hold of you to come on over to his headquarters soonest." "All right, Max, thanks." Joe flicked the set off. Actually, Max was right.
Cogswell's lean face registered one of his infrequent grimaces of humor. "I understand, Joe. Well, good luck and I hope things don't pickle for you in the coming fracas. Possibly we'll find ourselves aligned together again at some future time." "Thank you, sir," Joe said, once more having to catch himself to prevent an automatic salute.
Cogswell, old war horse that he was, stood a full moment and watched the Rube as he walked in to the bench. An idea had penetrated Cogswell's brain, and I would have given something to know what it was. Cogswell was a great baseball general, and though he had a preference for matured ball-players he could, when pressed, see the quality in a youngster.
Poole dumped the ball, as evidently the Rube desired, for he handed up a straight one, but the bunt rolled teasingly and the Rube, being big and tall, failed to field it in time. Suddenly the whole field grew quiet. For the first time Cogswell's coaching was clearly heard. "One out! Take a lead! Take a lead! Go through this time. Go through!"
The infantry officer the younger Haer had introduced as Lieutenant Colonel Warren, of Stonewall Cogswell's staff, said idly, "Ambitions? Does the captain have ambitions? How in Zen can a Middle have ambitions, Balt?" He stared at Joe Mauser superciliously, but then scowled. "Haven't I seen you somewhere before?" Joe said evenly, "Yes, sir.
"Yes, sir. And he's fought half his fracases under you, sir." "Your point, Paul?" the marshal said crisply. "He knows your methods, sir. For that matter, so does Lieutenant General McCord. He's fought you enough." There was silence in the staff headquarters, broken suddenly by Cogswell's curt chuckle.
Lane struck under it. How significant on the instant to see old Cogswell's hands go up! Again the Rube pitched, and this time Lane watched the ball go by. Two strikes! That whole audience leaped to its feet, whispering, yelling, screaming, roaring, bawling. The Rube received the ball from Sweeney and quick as lightning he sped it plateward. The great Lane struck out!
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