There was a Fourth of July entertainment at the Y. M. C. A. that evening, and Wayne and June stayed in town for supper and afterward walked around to the Association building through the warm summer night. June still talked about that ninth inning. “Mas’ Wayne, that was surely one fine ol’ innin’,” he declared for the tenth time. “Lawsy-y-y, but I certainly was scared, yes, sir! When that yere Mister Brewster grab a bat an’ walk up to that yere plate I didn’ look for nothin’ but jus’ disappointment. But he delivered the goods, didn’ he? He certainly did! But I was mortal ’fraid you wasn’ goin’ get home before that ol’ ball!” June chuckled. “You surely did run some, Mas’ Wayne!” They found most of the other players present when they reached the building and when it was time to adjourn to the hall they flocked in together, June accompanying them protestingly, and received a round of applause as they went to their seats. The entertainment was enjoyable Brewster was lauded for his rescue hit, Jim Wheelock for his steady playing on base and at bat, Collins for a brilliant defence of left field and a timely two-base wallop, Hoffman for his heady catching, and Despaigne for his work at short. Even Billy White came in for a share of the compliments, for Billy had worked Ellis for a pass in the last inning and subsequently landed the tying run. But when all was said Wayne was really the star. He had fielded without an error, having three assists and two put-outs to his credit, had made three hits for a total of four bases in four appearances at the plate, and had tallied the In the middle of the session of mutual admiration word came from the office that a gentleman was inquiring for Wayne, and Wayne wondered who it could be and decided that Jim Mason had at last accepted his oft-repeated invitation to the Association. But it wasn’t Jim who awaited him. The caller was a somewhat thick-set man of forty with a much wrinkled face from which a pair of shrewd, light-blue eyes peered forth from under heavy brows. He wore a suit of gray plaid, the coat a trifle tight across the big chest, a pair of wonderfully brilliant tan shoes, a heavy gold chain across his waistcoat, and a big diamond ring on one hand, and carried a soft straw hat adorned with a black-and-yellow scarf. Wayne didn’t observe all these details at first, for he was much “This Mr. Sloan?” he asked as Wayne reached him. Wayne acknowledged the fact. “My name’s Farrel, Chris Farrel. Maybe you’ve heard the name.” He held out the ringed hand and Wayne took it, shaking his head. “No? Well, I was before your time. I’m with the Harrisvilles, of the Tri-State League.” “Oh, baseball?” asked Wayne. “Sure! Say, isn’t there a place we can sit down a minute? I’ve got a proposition I’d like to make you, Mr. Sloan.” “I beg your pardon,” said Wayne. “I reckon we can find a corner in the game-room. There’s a crowd in the big room.” He led the way to a couch in a corner that was sufficiently removed from the few groups of chess and domino players. “You’re a ball player?” he asked as the caller cautiously lowered himself into place and dropped his hat to the floor beside him. “Do I look it?” inquired the other, with a chuckle. “Say, I weigh two hundred and eight “The Badgers?” “Yes, that’s what they call the Harrisville team. John K. Badger, the Southern Pennsylvania Coal Company man, is the owner: him and Steve Milburn and me. Him owning ninety per cent, and me and Steve dividing the rest.” Mr. Farrel chuckled again. “Ever see our team play, Mr. Sloan?” “No, sir, I haven’t been up North very long.” “So a fellow was telling me. Said Georgia was your home, I think. Well, they grow peaches down there. Ty Cobb, for instance. Guess you’ve heard of him, haven’t you?” “Yes, a good many times, Mr. Farrel.” “Yup, he’s some player, Tyrus is. Well, say, we’ve got a pretty good little team over our way. Copped the pennant two years running and finished third last season. Had hard luck last season. Weak in the box, too. This year, though, we’re going nicely. Got a twelve-game lead right now and mean to hold it. There won’t be anyone else in it by the last of August. That’s a cinch.” “I hope so, I’m sure,” murmured Wayne politely. “We can’t miss it. We’ve got the pitchers and the fielders and the hitters. Ever hear of Nick Crane?” Wayne shook his head. “Thought maybe you had. Well, Nick’s with us this year. Got him sewed up for three seasons. And, say, that kid can certainly pitch! You ought to have seen him in the game with Damascus last Thursday. Not a hit off him until the eighth, and not a man got beyond second. Then we’ve got Herring—played with Syracuse two years ago—Nye, Cotton, Wainwright, and young Joe Casey. Six mighty good lads. And we’ve got a hitting team, too. Give me a good bunch of pitchers and five men who can hit the pill and I’ll guarantee to finish first two years out of three. We don’t go in for stars much. Can’t afford them, to be honest. What we try to get is a nice, well-rounded team. Do you get me?” “Yes, I think so,” responded Wayne. “But—but I’m afraid I don’t see what this has got to do with me, Mr. Farrel.” “Well, I was coming to that. Takes me some time to get moving, I’m so heavy, you see. Here’s the story.” Mr. Farrel lifted one ponderous leg over the other and dropped his voice to a confidential and husky rumble. “I’ve got a pal lives here. Maybe you know him. H. M. Breen, of the Sterling Spool Company. No? Well, him and “That’s very kind of you,” stammered Wayne. “Do you mean that—that you’ll give me a position on your team?” “Sure! That is, if you pan out like I think you will. That’s up to you, Mr. Sloan. You see, you’re young yet: can’t be more than eighteen, eh?” Wayne shook his head again. There was, he felt, no necessity of being more specific. “Well, I’ve seen fellows play rattling ball at eighteen and be no good at all when they were twenty. Seemed like they just outgrew it. I ain’t saying that’s your way. But it don’t do to promise too much just at first. And then again, Steve’s the man that has the last word. He’s manager, you see, and what Steve says goes. All I can do is send you up to him and tell him to give you a try-out. If he likes you he’ll treat you fair. If he don’t like you, why, there’s no harm done, is there?” “How long would he be finding out?” asked Wayne doubtfully. “You see, sir, I wouldn’t want to lose my job here and then get turned down.” “Two or three days. Say three, just to be on the safe side. You get your boss to let you off for that long, beat it over to Harrisville tomorrow night and report to Steve Thursday morning. If he says nothing doing you’ll be back here Saturday. “I don’t know,” replied Wayne. “If—if the manager liked me well enough to keep me would I play second?” “Maybe you would or maybe he’d put you somewhere else. Maybe you’d have to wait around awhile for a position. Our infield’s pretty good as it is and you ain’t had the experience you need, you see. But Steve will treat you right, take it from me.” “If I didn’t get on the team, though, would I get paid?” “Sure! Once you put your name to the contract you get paid every month regularly whether you play or just sit on the bench. That’s soft, ain’t it?” “I suppose it is, but I’d rather play, Mr. Farrel. How much—that is—what would I get?” “Salary? Oh, you and Steve would have to fix that up. He’s no piker, though. He’ll do the fair-and-square by you. Don’t you worry about that.” “Well, but, how much do you suppose?” “I don’t want to quote any figures, Mr. Sloan. That ain’t in my job. All I do is scout. When I see a likely looking chap I say just what I’m saying to you. ‘Go and report to Steve Milburn,’ “Well, I’m much obliged to you and——” “Wait a minute! Tell you what I’ll do. I believe in you. I believe you’ll make good. Get me? So I’ll hand you over a ten-dollar bill right now. That’ll pay your expenses both ways. If you make good you can pay it back to me. If you don’t, forget it. That’s fair, ain’t it?” “Yes, sir, but I don’t know whether I want to—to do it. If I was sure of a chance to play and knew what I’d earn——” “You’re sure of a chance to play the very minute you show you can play. And whatever you get for a salary will be three or four times what they pay you in the freight house, at least.” It occurred to Wayne that Mr. Farrel had managed to learn quite a few particulars about him in the short space of four hours! Secretly he was overjoyed by the prospect of joining a real baseball team and earning money, but something “That’s all right,” answered the other heartily enough, but there was a look on his face suggesting that he would have been better pleased had Wayne closed with the offer then and there. “I’ll be at the Union House until noon tomorrow. You think it over and let me know by twelve o’clock. I was going down to Philadelphia tonight, but I thought maybe I wouldn’t be around here again for a while and it mightn’t do me or you any harm if we had a little chat. Get me? But, say, Mr. Sloan, you take my advice and don’t talk much about this business. And don’t let anyone con you into signing a contract. A lot of these baseball scouts are regular thieves. That sounds like talking down my own business, don’t it? Well, there’s scouts and scouts, and some of ’em’ll sign you up hard and fast before you know what’s happened. And when you go to look over your contract you’re getting the core and the club’s got the apple. See me before you talk to anyone else, will you? Just give me an option on your services until tomorrow noon, eh?” “Why, yes, sir. I don’t expect anyone else will be after me, though.” “No, I guess not. I’m only playing it safe. You see, I’ve taken some trouble to talk with you about this, and missed an appointment in Philadelphia this evening, and it’s only fair for me to get the first chance, ain’t it? You see that yourself, I guess. Well, I’ll be moving. Don’t forget to come around by twelve tomorrow. Ask for Chris Farrel—F, a, r, r, e, l—in Room 28. I’ll be looking for you. Good-night, Mr. Sloan. Much obliged to you. Don’t trouble. I know the way out. S’long!” Mr. Chris Farrel, with a big, black cigar in a corner of his mouth at last, and searching for matches with an anxious hand, nodded and passed out, leaving Wayne a prey to excitement and incredulity. |