In such cases he would remark with a comical leer: "By Gad, I made it hit me gloves, anyhow." After his return to Boston he played good ball for a time, but his bad habits soon caused his downfall, just as they had caused the downfall of many good players before him, for it may be set down as an axiom that baseball and booze will not mix any better than will oil and water.

The last time that I ever saw him was at an Eastern hotel barroom, and during the brief space of time that we conversed together he threw in enough whisky to put an ordinary man under the table.

After leaving Boston the "only Mike" had charge of Al Johnson's team at Altoona, Pa., but whisky had become at this time his master, and he made a failure of the managerial business.

Not being able to control himself it is hardly to be wondered at that he failed when it came to the business of controlling others.

He died some years ago in New Jersey, a victim to fast living, and a warning to all ball players.