This silk-stocking aggregation, never able to play a very brilliant game, had been reluctant to accept challenges from shipwrights, boilermakers and other grades of "greasy mechanics." Not wishing to be drawn into too close fellowship with the rabble, and perhaps dreading the humiliation of defeat at the hands of plebian upstarts, the Knickerbockers held aloof, practicing occasionally—between banquets—usually among their own exclusive membership, satisfied with the mouldy laurels won before live competition had appeared, and resting upon the glory of their unquestioned title as the first, if not "greatest ever."
The attitude of the Knickerbockers was for some time quite embarrassing to the interests of Base Ball. It was important that this organization, whose playing rules had been very generally adopted, but which needed so many changes, should co-operate with other clubs to that end. But no. The "Knicks" were satisfied with the rules, which were good enough for them—for anybody, they thought. And thus the matter rested, the original club declining overtures for matches, for conferences or for association. They were it, and it they proposed to remain.
Perhaps we ought not too harshly to criticize the Knickerbockers for their attitude at this period in the history of the game. They had been present at the accouchement and had witnessed the birth of Base Ball. Ever, since that glad day, the Knickerbockers had rocked the cradle of the infant prodigy, until they had come to regard themselves as in every way its special guardian and caretaker. They could not be induced to look with
