Hall and I are walking south on the road past the "sand hill" in my hometown. Go as far as R.R. tracks, then turn west, planning to return to some house where dinner will be ready exactly at 12 o'clock. Shortly after passing the stock yards we notice a baseball game in progress on a flat piece of ground between the tracks and the road. Hall wants to stop, but I feel reluctant to do so because of the dining obligation, but Hall assures me that our stopping will make no difference whatever; he also says, with a smile, "You have many things on your mind" -- this reference to the large number of dreams I have. I immediately "horn into" the ball game, Hall not appearing again in this dream. Home plate is toward railroad tracks. The game, a modification of "one old cat" is being played by about 7 or 8; when the batter is retired, everybody "moves up." A girl is pitching. Ball is a tennis ball. I ask how man is put out, and am told he must be tagged. Soon after I have the ball in my hand, but instead of trying to tag a runner who is near 1st base, I try to hit him with the ball; the ball, however, sticks to my fingers enough to ruin my aim, at first, but soon I am able to hit the runner, thought I am careful to throw rather easily.