“Tom, do you know Mr. John Hall?”

Sam, swinging his legs from the counter at Cummings and Wright’s, had to wait a full minute for an answer, for Tom Pollock finished writing an order for football supplies before he raised his head. It was a little before nine o’clock on the morning following Sam’s return to Amesville, and the store was empty of customers. Tom signed “Cummings and Wright Hardware Co., T. Pollock,” blotted the sheet, and pulled an envelope toward him.

“John Logan Hall?” asked Tom then, glancing up. “The lawyer, Sam?”

“Yes, I think so. What’s he like?”

“Sort of tall and thin; clean-shaven; wears a Panama hat about ten years old; lives at the Amesville Club, and has his office in the new building. Why?”

“Mr. York wants me to go and see him. They’re great friends. He was visiting Mr. Hall when he saw that game last spring, like I told you. Is he nice?”

“John Hall? I guess so. I don’t know him except to speak to. He’s been in here once or twice for golf balls. They say he’s one of the best players at the Country Club. He seems a nice sort, Sam. I don’t believe he’d bite you, anyway.”

“N-no,” answered Sam seriously, “but it seems sort of cheeky, doesn’t it? To call on a man you’ve never even seen, I mean.”

“You used to call on men you’d never seen when you sold that ‘Popular History of Ohio,’ or whatever it was, didn’t you?”

“That was different.”

“Yes; you were trying to do them out of their hard-earned money. All you want from Mr. Hall is a kind word.”

“That was a perfectly good book,” answered Sam defensively. “When do you suppose I’d find him at his office?”

Tom glanced at the little tin clock on his desk. “After nine, I guess.” He put his clasped hands behind his head, leaned back, and viewed his friend amusedly. “Sam, you’re an awful coward about some things, aren’t you?” he asked. “You wouldn’t hesitate to try and sell a book to a man, but you hate to just call socially.”

“I used to be scared to death every time I rang a doorbell when I was selling that book,” replied Sam, with a shake of his head. “I wish Mr. York had given me a letter of introduction to him.”

“Want me to go over with you and introduce you?” laughed Tom. “If you feel so bashful why not take a book with you and try to sell it to him? I’ll lend you our telephone directory. You can call it anything you like—‘Child’s History of Amesville,’ ‘Things Every Lawyer Should Know,’ ‘How to Tell the Trolley Cars’——”

“Dry up,” said Sam. “What about this game Saturday?”

“Why, nothing, except that we want like anything to win it, Sam. Lynton does too. Fact is, there’s quite a little rivalry between us this year. They beat us pretty badly the first game and so Sid got them to play us again. Then we licked them. That was a week ago last Saturday. Then they decided they’d have to play a third game and so they’re coming over to-morrow.”

“How did they happen to get away with the first game?” asked Sam.

“Principal reason, better playing,” laughed Tom.

“Did they get to you?”

“Not once.”

“Then how the dickens——”

“I didn’t play. We’d just got in a big invoice of goods and I had to stay and help here at the store. Mr. Cummings wanted me to go, but I saw that Mr. Wright thought I ought to stick around.”

“Who did pitch?” asked Sam.

“Various members of our brilliant team—Buster, Tommy Hughes, and Joe Kenny. I believe even Sid tried an inning. I dare say it was a lot of fun for Lynton.”

“What was the score?”

Tom gazed at the ceiling. “Eighteen to three,” he said softly.

Sam whistled. Then, “What about to-morrow?” he asked anxiously. “Any more invoices in sight?”

Tom laughed. “Not a one. To-morrow, Sam, we’ll everlastingly whale those chaps! Revenge is the order of the day. By the way, they tried to get us to agree to play the same line-up, but we told them we couldn’t promise that.” Tom grinned. “Then I wrote to you. How are you hitting, Mr. Councillor?”

“Not much. Mr. York says I take too long a swing. I guess I do, too.”

“Oh, never mind that if you hit the ball; results are what count.”

“Mr. York says if I take a shorter swing I’ll hit oftener.”

“Look here, Sam, I dare say this Mr. York of yours is a fine chap and all that, but if you don’t stop talking about him I’ll throw a fit! I haven’t heard much else since yesterday but ‘Mr. York’!”

“He thinks you’re a great little pitcher, Tom,” replied Sam, with a twinkle.

Tom smiled. “Why? Because I have big ears?”

“Big ears?” Sam looked puzzled. “He didn’t say anything about your ears.”

“That was a joke,” explained Tom patiently. “There’s a saying that little pitchers have big ears, you know, and you said he said—Oh, shucks! Never mind, you’ll see it after a while.”

“You ought to label your jokes,” replied the other gently. “How’s a fellow to know? How do you feel about school, Tom?”

“Full of enthusiasm,” answered Tom. “I dearly love my school. Next Monday it’s back to the grind, eh? When are you going to call fall practice?”

“As soon as possible, I guess. I’ve got to see Mr. Talbot pretty soon.”

“Bat isn’t back yet, I think. He went out West about three weeks ago, he and Mr. George; Grand Canyon and all that. I suppose they’ll be back in a day or two, though. Excuse me a minute, Sam.”

A customer had entered and Tom arose to wait on him. “I’ll see you later, Tom,” said Sam. “Guess I’ll go and call on Mr. Hall.”

“All right. The directory’s in the booth back there.”

Sam smiled gently and took his departure. Main Street had quite a busy look now. A few blocks further along, and on the opposite side, what Tom had called the “new building” reared its fourteen stories high above the older structures. It was there that Mr. Hall had his office, and Sam, as he approached, searched the signs on the lower windows. He didn’t see Mr. Hall’s name, however, and before he could begin on the next tier there was a collision and Sam, recovering his balance and murmuring an apology, looked up into the smiling face of a tall man of about thirty years of age.

“No harm done,” said the man pleasantly. “My fault, too, I guess.”

He stepped to the right and at the same instant Sam embarrassedly stepped to the left. “Beg pardon,” muttered Sam, and stepped further toward the curb. So did the tall man. Sam felt the blood creeping into his face. The man laughed.

“Well, we’ll never get anywhere this way, will we?” he asked. “Now I tell you what we’ll do. You stand quite still”—the man held up an admonishing finger—“and I’ll carefully walk around you. Don’t move!”

Sam, very red of face, obeyed silently and the tall man circled him to the left. “All right!” he said. “We’re off again!”

Sam looked after him. He walked with a quick, springy stride and wore a yellow and somewhat battered Panama hat. The horrible suspicion forced itself into Sam’s mind that the man was John Hall! Tom had said that he was tall and thin, and wore a ten-year-old Panama. Sam couldn’t be certain about the age of that hat, but it looked as if it might easily have seen ten summers, and the man was tall, decidedly tall and thin. There could be no doubt about it! Sam very cautiously moved to a window and gazed unseeingly into it, conscious of the amused glances of several bystanders and of the heightened colour in his face. What an idiot Mr. Hall must think him, he mused. Well, there was no use trying to find him in his office now, for he had disappeared in the throng in the other direction. Sam was heartily glad of it, for he had very little taste left for that visit. Perhaps to-morrow—or the next day——

He made his way back toward Cummings and Wright’s. He had meant to make a purchase there and had forgotten it. He was still thinking of that awkward moment on the sidewalk when he entered the store, and didn’t observe that Tom was busy with a customer until he had himself reached the counter. Even then he paid no heed to the man beside him until Tom caught sight of him, and grinned maliciously and observed:

“Hello, Sam! How are directories selling?”

Then, following the other’s glance, Sam discovered, to his embarrassment, that the customer was none other than the man in the Panama hat. The latter was selecting half a dozen golf balls from a box that Tom had presented, and had been very intent on his task until Tom’s greeting called the newcomer to his attention. Then he glanced up, and a smile of recognition came to his face.

“Ah,” he said, “my late adversary!”

Tom looked puzzled and Sam most unhappy. He tried to smile, but made a poor effort of it. The man in the Panama returned to a study of the golf balls. After a moment he completed his selection and nodded to Tom.

“I’ll take these,” he said. Then, as Tom proceeded to do them up, he turned toward Sam, who was looking very intently at something in a show-case, and viewed him appraisingly. Sam, well aware of the scrutiny, felt his cheeks growing hot again.

“I’ve been wondering ever since if it was an aËroplane,” said the man presently. Sam tried to pretend that he didn’t know the remark was addressed to him, but something compelled him to meet the issue.

“What, sir?” he asked.

“I said I’d been wondering if it was an aËroplane,” repeated the other. “I’m interested in aËroplanes and wouldn’t want to miss seeing one. It was that, wasn’t it?”

“I—I don’t quite understand,” stammered Sam.

“I refer to your intent study of the heavens,” replied the other, with deep gravity. “You seemed to be so absorbed——”

“I was looking at the new building, sir. I—I’m sorry I was so stupid!”

“So that was it? Well, I’m glad it wasn’t an aËroplane.”

Tom, handing the package across and accepting the bill proffered in payment, was plainly nonplussed. It sounded to him as though the two had gone quite crazy! He looked at Sam and then at the man in the Panama, and, finally, as he returned the change, he blurted:

“You two have met, then!”

“Oh, yes, indeed—violently,” replied the man. “Still, if you can introduce us properly——”

“Why, I thought——” began Tom. Then he laughed. “Mr. Hall,” he said, “this is my friend Sam Craig. Sam is selling directories, and I think he was looking for you.”

“He found me,” replied the other quizzically as he shook hands. “I’ve been trying to place you, Mr. Craig, ever since we bumped. I remember now that I saw you catch a game against Petersburg last spring. You’re still playing ball, I suppose?”

“Yes, sir; that is, I—sometimes.”

“I really feel honoured in possessing the acquaintance of two such talented players. I want to see you chaps in action again sometime.”

“Better come to the game to-morrow, Mr. Hall,” said Tom. “We’re going to play Lynton at the school field at three.”

“To-morrow? Why, I’m afraid—The fact is, I’m playing golf to-morrow afternoon. Sorry. Wish I might see the game. Now, what about these directories, Mr. Craig? I don’t believe I want to invest, but if you care to tell me what it is you’re handling——”

“That’s only Tom’s joke, sir,” said Sam apologetically. “I’m not selling anything.”

“Oh, then you weren’t looking for me?”

“No, sir—yes, sir, I was, only——”

“The plot thickens! Only what?”

“I mean I was going to your office, but after I ran into you I thought there wouldn’t be any use going, and so I came in here. I didn’t know you were here, sir.”

Tom was enjoying Sam’s embarrassment hugely. “Better confess everything, Sam,” he said soberly, “if you want Mr. Hall to help you.”

“Eh?” said Mr. Hall. Sam frowned.

“Cut it out,” he muttered.

“Look here, Mr. Craig, your story interests me strangely,” declared the man. “You were looking for me, only you weren’t. Sounds a great deal as though you thought I was a dentist. By the way, how did you know who I was when we collided?”

“Tom told me that—I mean, he described you.”

“I’d like to have heard the description,” chuckled Mr. Hall. “What was it, Pollock?”

It was Tom’s turn to be embarrassed. “I don’t just remember, Mr. Hall. This idiot was told to call on you by a friend of yours, and he’s too bashful to say so.”

“A friend of mine? Really?” Mr. Hall turned to Sam interestedly. “Who was it, Mr. Craig?”

“Mr. York said——”

“John York?” demanded the other eagerly.

“Yes, sir. He said when I got home I was to call and tell you he sent me. He said he would write to you about it.”

“Just the sort of thing he would do!” laughed Mr. Hall. “Sent you along without a letter of introduction, eh? Well, I’m very glad to know you, Mr. Craig. Any friend of John’s is my friend.” He shook hands again heartily. “Where did you meet him? Hold on, though, I must get back to the office. Can’t you come along and tell me about it? Or are you busy just now?”

“No, sir, I haven’t anything to do.”

“Then come along. We can talk better at the office. Much obliged, Pollock. And, come to think of it, I don’t know but what I’ll call off that golf to-morrow and see you chaps play instead. I suppose you’re going to pitch?”

“Yes, sir, and Sam’s to catch. Maybe you’d be willing to umpire for us?”

“Thank you for your sweet thought, Pollock, but I’m too useful a member of this community to risk my life. I’ll yell for you, but I’d rather not take chances.”