Towards evening Thomas returned home in a state of total dejection and despondency. His face was the very picture of childish melancholy as he plodded his way up the sidewalk to his mother’s porch. He dragged his old baseball bat dispiritedly in the dust behind him in one hand while his baseball-stuffed glove dangled carelessly from the fingers of his other hand. Even his beloved baseball cap wasn’t straight; the bill of the cap had been struck with the tip of his bat and been knocked askew when he had taken his bat from his shoulder to drag it behind him with one hand. Thomas was so depressed that he hadn’t even bothered to reset his cap on his head.
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