At a quarter to six the next afternoon Wayne sat in a red plush seat in the Harrisville train and watched the outskirts of Medfield drop behind. He had his ticket to Harrisville and return in his pocket and nearly eighteen dollars folded away in his old leather coin purse. His luggage reposed beside him in a small brown paper parcel, for he was travelling in light marching order. For some reason, June had failed to show up at the station to say good-bye, and Wayne was a little bit resentful. He thought June might have found the time to see him off. It had been a busy day. Rather to his surprise, he had awakened with the question fully decided. He would go to Harrisville and talk with the manager of the baseball team. Whether he stayed or not would depend on whether he made good and what salary was offered him. He would not, he told himself firmly, accept less than a hundred dollars a month. The talk with Chris Farrel had been fairly satisfactory. Arthur Pattern had failed to Jim had given his permission quickly enough, but had shown little enthusiasm for the boy’s project. Playing baseball for a living did not, to his thinking, contrast at all favourably with working for the railroad, and he didn’t hesitate to say so. In fact, he was decidedly pessimistic and gloomy until Wayne reminded him that there was a strong possibility of his not securing the position after he reached Harrisville. Jim cheered up after that and chose to look on the three days’ absence as a sort of brief vacation, and virtually despatched Wayne with his blessing when closing time arrived. “Don’t you worry about me,” he said. “I’ll get on all right. It ain’t but two days and a half, anyway. Just you have a good time and enjoy yourself, son. Better come around for dinner Sunday and tell us about your trip.” Wayne promised to do this in the event of his June was grinning broadly, but there was something anxious and apologetic about that grin. After his first gasp of surprise, Wayne wanted to be stern and severe, but he just couldn’t because it was so good to have June and Sam there! And, anyway, you couldn’t frown or be cross with a delirious dog in your lap trying to lick your face and whine his delight at the same time! And so Wayne gave it up, and only smiled a trifle sheepishly, and June, seeing that he was not to be scolded, hugged himself, and grinned harder than ever. The conductor interrupted the reunion with a “But, June, if we don’t stay in Harrisville what will you do? You shouldn’t have thrown up your job.” June winked solemnly. “I done made a ’greement with that nigger, Mas’ Wayne. If I comes back he’s goin’ to get out, yes, sir, an’ I gets my job back.” “Oh! But supposing he changes his mind by that time?” “Then,” answered the other solemnly, “I’se goin’ to change his face.” Just before it got too dark to see, the train began to run parallel with a broad river, and after that, at intervals, the big stream flashed into sight. The baggage-man was amiable and talkative and told them much about the country they were passing through and the city they were approaching, giving them directions for finding a cheap but satisfactory hotel near the station. As Harrisville contained about fifty thousand population the boys naturally expected to find a big place, but when, having alighted from the baggage-car by the simple expedient of jumping to a truck outside the wide door, and made their way through the crowded station to an equally crowded street, the city proved to be larger and far more confusing than their anticipation. Fortunately, though, the Bemis House was in plain sight across the way and they had soon secured a room. The Bemis House drew no colour line, nor did it object to a small dog if he was sort of smuggled upstairs and kept quiet, and so the three companions were speedily housed together in a small and shabby but comfortable enough bedroom. They didn’t stay in it long, however, for the city lights were calling them. They had some supper at a little restaurant near by and then, Wayne’s letter of introduction to Mr. Stephen Milburn bore the address of the Congress House, and inquiry elicited the information that the Congress House was far uptown and many blocks away from their lodgings. For fear that the club manager might get away before he could reach him, Wayne ate a hurried and sketchy breakfast “After breakfast!” repeated Wayne blankly. “Well, what time is that, please?” The clerk at the desk looked speculatingly at the clock and yawned behind his hand. “He usually comes down about nine,” was the reply. “Come back at half-past and you’ll probably find him.” Wayne withdrew, wondering how Mr. Milburn ever found time to do anything after getting up at nine o’clock! For a while he occupied one of the extremely comfortable chairs in the hotel lobby and perused a newspaper that someone had discarded there, but the street outside was by this time humming and bustling, the morning was still cool and the temptation to see more of Harrisville was too strong for him. So he went out and joined the stream on the sidewalk and loitered “Say, Mister, you can find Mr. Milburn at the ball park after half-past ten,” he said. “They practises then every day.” “Oh, thanks,” answered Wayne. “Which way is the park from here, please?” “Out Tioga Avenue. Take any blue car going “Is it much of a walk?” Wayne asked. “No, not more’n a mile and a half. Mr. Milburn walks out there every morning. Go out Prentiss Street till you come to the armory and then turn left and follow the car tracks. You’ll find it.” “I surely will!” Wayne told himself as he thanked the boy and went out again. “But the next time I’ll know better than to let him get away from me like that. When you start to do anything, I reckon it’s a good plan to keep on doing it.” As it was still only a quarter to ten, Wayne assured himself that he had plenty of time. But he also assured himself that he wasn’t going to loiter for that reason. If he could intercept Mr. Milburn before he started to work it would, he thought, be better. So he set forth at a good, steady pace, asking his direction every few squares so that he would not again get lost, and presently found the armory and took the turn to the left as instructed. A square farther a blue car buzzed past him bearing the legend “Ball Grounds,” and Wayne knew that he was right. It was, however, a minute or two past the half-hour, The park occupied two squares in a part of the city given over to small, thickly clustered dwellings. On one side the railroad tracks ran close to the high board fence and smoke from the engines—accompanied by cinders, as Wayne was to learn later—billowed over onto the field whenever the wind blew in the right—or, more accurately, wrong—direction. The place looked well cared for and the stands, visible above the fence, were of steel and concrete. The ticket windows and main entrances were closed and Wayne went nearly to the next corner before he found a means of ingress. And even then his way was barred by a man who sat beside the small door reading a paper until Wayne had exhibited his letter. “All right, Jack, help yourself,” replied the man on guard. “He’s in the house, I guess.” Wayne didn’t consider it worth while to waste his time telling the man that his name wasn’t Jack; which was just as well since Mike always called everyone Jack—except Mr. Milburn and one or two of the more important team members—and it wasn’t at all likely that he would have given serious consideration to the correction. A tall, raw-boned youth of twenty-one or two emerged through the open door at that moment. He had the reddest hair Wayne had ever seen on a human being and was fearfully and wonderfully freckled. He was in uniform and held a ball in one hand and a glove in the other. As he almost ran into Wayne he could not help noticing him. “’Lo, Bill!” he said. “Lookin’ for someone?” “Yes, sir, Mr. Milburn.” The red-haired chap jerked the hand holding the ball over his shoulder. “Steve? He’s inside bawling ’em out. That’s why I beat it. If you want to sell him anything or strike him for a pass, kid, take my advice and don’t do it. Let him simmer down. Can you catch?” Wayne nodded. “I’ve got a letter to him,” he said uncertainly and questioningly. “Keep it, Bill, till he recovers,” advised the other. “Come on out and catch a few for me. I got a bum wing this morning for fair.” Doubtfully, Wayne followed the big chap around to the front of the stand. He didn’t like the idea of delaying his interview, but it seemed possible that the red-haired man knew best. The latter pointed to a scarred place in the turf in front of which a stone slab did duty for a plate. “Stand there, Bill. Haven’t got a glove, have you? Well, I’ll just toss ’em. I got to limber up or Steve’ll be riding me, too, in a minute.” He swung an arm up and sped the ball slowly and easily across the trampled grass to Wayne and Wayne tossed it back again. “Guess you’re a player, ain’t you?” asked the big pitcher. “Looking for a job, are you?” “Yes, Mr. Farrel sent me over here to see Mr. Milburn.” “So Chris is at it again, eh?” The red-haired one eyed Wayne with more interest as he waited for the ball to come back. “Where’d he find you, kid?” “Medfield, sir.” “Medfield? Have they got a club there? What league’s that? The Nile Valley?” “It’s just an amateur club,” replied Wayne. “It isn’t in any league.” “Oh, that’s it, eh? Well, say, Chris is catching ’em young, ain’t he? What was you doing when he caught you?” “I played second on the Chenango team and——” “On the what?” “On the Chenango team, sir.” “Think of that! You played second base for ’em, eh? Bet you they was the proud bunch!” Wayne coloured. “Maybe you’d better find someone else,” he said stiffly, rolling the ball back and turning away. “Oh, come on, kid!” called the pitcher, with a good-natured laugh. “Have a heart! I wasn’t saying anything, was I? Gee whiz, if you stay around here you’ll get a lot worse ragging than that, believe me! And if you know what’s what, Bill, you’ll take it smiling, ’cause if you don’t they’ll make it worse for you. Just hold a few more now, like a good feller. Dan’ll be out in a minute.” Wayne nodded and spread his hands again. This time the ball came in with a thud that almost staggered him and the pitcher grinned. “Too bad, kid,” he said. “I won’t do it again.” Wayne smiled, too. “You may if you’ll tell me before you do it,” he answered. “Say, I’ll bet you can hold down a sack all right, Bill,” replied the other. “Tell you what. You wait for me to give you the signal, see? When I see that Steve’s got his temper back I’ll pipe you off. But don’t you tackle him before. Here they come now. Thanks, kid. Keep out of the way awhile.” Wayne tossed the ball back, nodded and loitered aside as the players emerged from the dressing-room. Wayne thought them a very likely-looking lot as they made their way around to the bench, followed by a man lugging two big bat-bags. In age they ran from nineteen to thirty, he judged. One, a broad-shouldered and powerful-looking man, appeared even older than thirty and wore a heavy mustache, something that none of the others had. The big man looked decidedly cross, Wayne thought, and he wondered if he had been the principal object of Manager Milburn’s wrath. The manager himself Wayne failed to see. No one paid any attention to Wayne. All the players looked very grave and solemn, but Wayne caught one, a youth not much older than he, winking at a companion and concluded that the solemnity was largely assumed. It was the man with the “Now show some pep!” he barked. “Get out there and act alive. Some of you stuffed sausages will be benched mighty quick if you don’t wake up, and I’m giving it to you square. Ten dollars a month would buy the lot of you if anyone made the offer!” Wayne awoke to the fact that the mustached man was Mr. Steve Milburn, something he had not suspected, since he had thought to find the manager in street clothes. Wayne viewed his angry countenance with sinking heart. The big pitcher was right, he concluded. This was no moment to approach Mr. Milburn with the expectation of getting a hearing. He made himself as small and inconspicuous as he might, finding a seat on the empty bench, and for the ensuing half-hour watched the Harrisville Badgers go through their morning practice. |