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diff --git a/old/52407-0.txt b/old/52407-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 595e823..0000000 --- a/old/52407-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7314 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Second Base Sloan, by Christy Mathewson - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Second Base Sloan - -Author: Christy Mathewson - -Illustrator: E. C. Caswell - -Release Date: June 25, 2016 [EBook #52407] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SECOND BASE SLOAN *** - - - - -Produced by Donald Cummings and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - - - SECOND BASE SLOAN - - - - -[Illustration: The White Boy, the Black Boy, and the Yellow Dog] - - - - - Second Base Sloan - - BY - CHRISTY MATHEWSON - - AUTHOR OF - FIRST BASE FAULKNER, - CATCHER CRAIG, ETC. - - - ILLUSTRATED BY - E. C. CASWELL - - - [Illustration] - - - GROSSET & DUNLAP - PUBLISHERS NEW YORK - - Made in the United States of America - - - - - Copyright, 1917, by - DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, Inc. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER PAGE - I TWO BOYS AND A DOG 3 - II JUNE STRIKES A BARGAIN 13 - III THE SEARCH FOR WORK 28 - IV DISPOSSESSED 44 - V WAYNE PARTS WITH SAM 57 - VI THE NEW HOME 71 - VII THE LUCK CHANGES 84 - VIII WAYNE LOSES A JOB AND FINDS ONE 100 - IX BIG TOM MAKES AN OFFER 118 - X NEW FRIENDS 131 - XI THE CHENANGO CLUB 143 - XII MEDFIELD CELEBRATES 159 - XIII WAYNE BEATS OUT THE BALL 172 - XIV “A GENTLEMAN TO SEE MR. SLOAN” 186 - XV PATTERN GIVES ADVICE 198 - XVI OFF TO HARRISVILLE 210 - XVII TURNED DOWN! 225 - XVIII “BADGERS” VS. “BILLIES” 236 - XIX WAYNE LENDS A HAND 250 - XX JUNE GOES TO WORK 263 - XXI MR. MILBURN PROMISES 274 - XXII SECOND BASE SLOAN 287 - - - - -ILLUSTRATIONS - - - The white boy, the black boy, and the yellow dog (Page 12) - _Frontispiece_ - - FACING - PAGE - - Wayne’s cry was uttered involuntarily as he leaped forward 104 - - Every other Medfield adherent made a joyful noise 182 - - His conviction that he could hit that ball was still strong 296 - - - - -SECOND BASE SLOAN - - - - -CHAPTER I - -TWO BOYS AND A DOG - - -Two boys and a dog sat at the edge of a little wood and shiveringly -watched the eastern sky pale from inky blue to gray. One of the boys -was white and the other was black; and the dog was yellow. The white -boy was seventeen years old, the black boy sixteen, and the yellow -dog--well, no one knew just how old he was. The white boy’s name was -Wayne Torrence Sloan, the black boy’s name was Junius Brutus Bartow -Tasker, and the dog’s name was Sam. An hour ago they had been rudely -awakened from their sleep in a box car and more rudely driven forth -into cold and darkness and mystery. They had had no complaint to make, -for they had lain undisturbed in the car ever since the middle of the -previous afternoon; and between that time and an hour ago had rumbled -and jolted over miles and miles of track, just how many miles there was -no way of telling until, having learned their present whereabouts, -Wayne should puzzle out the matter of distance on the frayed and -tattered time-table in his pocket. Travelling as they had travelled, -on foot or stealing rides when the chance offered, makes a philosopher -of one, and instead of objecting to the fate that had overtaken them -when a suspicious train hand had flashed his lantern into the gloomy -recesses of the box car, they had departed hurriedly and in silence, -being thankful that the exodus had not been forced on them long before. - -Minute by minute the sky brightened. The steely gray became softer in -tone and began to flush with a suggestion of rose. The stars paled. A -wan gleam of approaching daylight fell on one burnished rail of the -track which lay a few rods distant. The trees behind them took on form -and substance and their naked branches became visibly detailed against -the sky. The dog whined softly and curled himself tighter in Wayne’s -arms. Wayne stretched the corner of his gray sweater over the thin back -and eased himself from the cramped position against the trunk of a -small tree. - -“What would you do, June, if someone came along about now with a can of -hot coffee?” he asked, breaking the silence that had lasted for many -minutes. The negro boy aroused from his half doze and flashed the -whites of his eyes in the gloom. - -“Mas’ Wayne,” he answered fervently, “I’d jus’ about love that Mister -Man. M-m-mm! Hot coffee! Lawsy-y! You reckon it ever goin’ to get -lightsome, Mas’ Wayne?” - -“I reckon we can start along pretty soon now, June. Whereabouts do you -suspect we are?” - -“I reckon we must be gettin’ mighty nigh New York. How far was we -yesterday?” - -“’Most two hundred and fifty miles. If we’d just kept right on going -all night we might have been in New York right now, but that freight -was standing still more times than it was moving, I reckon. Look -yonder, June. Daylight’s surely coming, isn’t it?” - -Junius Brutus Bartow Tasker turned an obedient gaze toward the east, -but his reply was pessimistic. A negro who is cold is generally -pessimistic, and June was certainly cold. Unlike Wayne, he had no -sweater under his shabby jacket, nor was there much of anything else -under it, for the coarse gingham shirt offered little resistance to -the chill of the March night, and June and undershirts had long been -strangers. Early spring in southern Georgia is a different matter from -the same season up North, a fact which neither boy had allowed for. - -“I reckon Christmas is comin’ too,” muttered June gloomily, “but it’s -a powerful long way off. How come the nights is so long up here, Mas’ -Wayne?” - -“I reckon there isn’t any difference, not really,” answered Wayne. -“They just seem like they were longer. Sam, you wake up and stretch -yourself. We’re going to travel again pretty soon now. Go catch -yourself a rabbit or something.” - -The dog obeyed instructions so far as stretching himself was concerned, -and, after finding that he was not to be allowed to return to the -warmth of his master’s lap, even set off in a half-hearted, shivering -fashion to explore the surrounding world. - -“I reckon he can projeck ’roun’ a mighty long time before he starts a -rabbit,” said June discouragedly. “It’s a powerful mean-lookin’ country -up this way, ain’ it? What state you-all reckons we’s in, Mas’ Wayne?” - -Wayne shook his head. Shaking his head was very easy because he only -had to let the tremors that were agitating the rest of him extend above -the turned-up collar of his jacket! “I reckon it might be Maryland, -June. Somewheres around there, anyway.” He felt for the time-table in -his pocket, but he didn’t bring it forth for it was still too dark to -read. “I ’most wish I was back home, June,” he went on wistfully, -after a minute’s silence. “I sure do!” - -“I done told you we hadn’t no business comin’ up this yere way. Ain’ -nothin’ up here but Northerners, I reckon. If we’d gone West like I -said we’d been a heap better off.” - -“Nobody asked you to come, anyway,” responded Wayne sharply. “There -wasn’t any reason for you coming. You--you just butted in!” - -As there was no denying that statement, June wisely chose to change -the subject. “Reckon someone’s goin’ to give us some breakfast pretty -soon?” he asked. - -But Wayne had a grievance now and, feeling a good deal more homesick -than he had thought he ever could feel, and a lot colder and emptier -than was pleasant, he nursed it. “I couldn’t stay there any longer and -slave for that man,” he said. “I stuck it out as long as I could. Ever -since mother died it’s been getting worse and worse. He hasn’t got any -hold on me, anyway. Stepfathers aren’t kin. I had a right to run away -if I wanted to, and he can’t fetch me back, not anyway, not even by -law!” - -“No, sir, he can’,” agreed June soothingly. - -“But you didn’t have any right to run away, June. You----” - -“How come I ain’t” demanded the negro. “He ain’ no kin to me, neither, -is he? I was jus’ a-workin’ for him. Mister Higgins ain’ got no more -’sponsibility about me than he has about you, Mas’ Wayne.” - -“Just the same, June, he can fetch you back if he ever catches you.” - -“Can, can he? Let me tell you somethin’. He ain’ _goin’_ to catch me! -Nobody ain’ goin’ to catch me! Coloured folkses is free an’ independent -citizens, ain’ they? Ain’ they, Mas’ Wayne?” - -“Maybe they’re free,” answered his companion grimly, “but if you get to -acting independent I’ll just about lick the hide off you! I ought to -have done it back yonder and sent you home where you belong.” - -“I’se where I belong right now,” replied June stoutly. “Ain’ we been -together ever since we was jus’ little fellers, Mas’ Wayne? Wasn’ my -mammy your mammy’s nigger for years an’ years? How come I ain’ got no -right here? Ain’ my mammy always say to me, ‘You Junius Brutus Tasker, -you watch out for Young Master an’ don’ you ever let no harm come to -him, ’cause if you do I’ll tan your hide’? Ain’ she always tell me that -ever since I was so high? What you think I was goin’ to do, Mas’ Wayne, -when I seen you sneakin’ off that night? Wasn’ but jus’ one thing _to_ -do, was there? How you ’spects I was goin’ to watch out for you like my -mammy tells me if I didn’ go along with you? Huh? So I jus’ track along -till you get to the big road, an’ then I track along till you get to -Summitty, and then I track along----” - -“Yes, and you climbed into that freight car after me and the man saw -you and we all got thrown out,” continued Wayne. “I reckon you meant -all right, June, but what do you suppose I’m going to do with you up -North here? I got to find work to do and it’s going to be hard enough -to look after Sam here without having a pesky darkey on my hands. Best -thing you can do is hike back home before you starve to death.” - -“Huh! I ain’ never starved to death yet, Mas’ Wayne, an’ I ain’ lookin’ -to. Jus’ like I told you heaps of times, you ain’ got to do no worryin’ -about June. I reckon I can find me a job of work, too, can’ I? Reckon -folkses has to plough an’ plant an’ pick their cotton up here jus’ like -they does back home.” - -“There isn’t any cotton in the North, June.” - -“Ain’ no cotton?” ejaculated the other incredulously. “What all they -plant up here, then, Mas’ Wayne?” - -“Oh, apples, I reckon, and----” - -“I can pick apples, then. I done pick peaches, ain’ I? What else they -plant?” - -“Why----” Wayne didn’t have a very clear notion himself, but it didn’t -do to appear ignorant to June. “Why, they--they plant potatoes--white -potatoes, you know--and--and peas and--oh, lots of things, I reckon.” - -June pondered that in silence for a moment. Then: “But how come they -don’t plant cotton?” he asked in puzzled tones. - -“Too cold. It won’t grow for them up here.” - -June gazed rather contemptuously about the gray morning landscape and -grunted comprehendingly. “Uh-huh. Reckon I wouldn’t neither if I was a -cotton plant! It surely is a mighty--mighty _mean_-lookin’ place, ain’ -it?” - -Well, it really was. Before them ran the railroad embankment, -behind them was the little grove of bare trees and on either hand -an uncultivated expanse of level field stretched away into the gray -gloom. No habitation was as yet in sight. The telegraph poles showed -spectrally against the dawn, and a little breeze, rising with the -rising sun, made a moaning sound in the clustered wires. Sam came back -from his profitless adventures and wormed himself between Wayne’s legs. -June blew on his cold hands and crooned a song under his breath. The -eastern sky grew lighter and lighter and suddenly, like a miracle, -a burst of rose glow spread upward toward the zenith, turning the -grayness into the soft hues of a dove’s breast! Wayne sprang to his -feet, with an exclamation of pain as his cramped and chilled muscles -responded to the demand, and stretched his arms and yawned prodigiously. - -“Come along and let’s find that hot coffee, June,” he said almost -cheerfully. “There must be a house somewhere around here, I reckon.” - -“Sure must!” replied the other, falling instantly into Wayne’s humour. -“Lawsy-y, I can jus’ taste that coffee now! Which way we goin’, Mas’ -Wayne?” - -Wayne stamped his feet on the still frosty ground and considered. At -last: “North,” he replied, “and north’s over that way. Come along!” - -He led the way back toward the track, followed by June and Sam, -and after squeezing himself between the wires of a fence climbed -the embankment and set off over the ties with a speed born of long -practice. The rose hue was fast changing to gold now, and long rays of -sunlight streamed upward heralding the coming of His Majesty the Sun; -and against the glory of the eastern sky the three travellers stood -out like animated silhouettes cut from blue-black cardboard as they -trudged along--the white boy, the black boy, and the yellow dog. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -JUNE STRIKES A BARGAIN - - -That they didn’t travel absolutely due north was only because the -track chose to lead more westerly. By the time the sun was really in -sight they had covered the better part of a half-mile and had caught a -glimpse of a good-sized town in the distance. Tall chimneys and a spire -or two pointed upward above a smoky haze. They crossed a big bridge -beneath which flowed a broad and sluggish river, and had to flatten -themselves against the parapet, Sam held tightly in Wayne’s arms, while -a long freight train pounded past them on the single line of track. -Beyond the bridge a “Yard Limit” sign met them, and the rails branched -and switches stood up here and there like sentries and a roundhouse was -near at hand. But they found their first habitation before that in a -tiny white cottage set below the embankment, its gate facing a rambling -clay road, rutted and pitted, that disappeared under a bridge. There -was a path worn down the bank to the road, and Wayne and June and Sam -descended it. A trail of smoke arose from the chimney of the house -straight into the morning sunlight and suggested that the occupants -were up and about. - -Wayne’s knock on the door was answered by a tall, thin, slatternly -woman who scowled questioningly. - -“Good morning, ma’am,” began Wayne. “Could you give us a cup of coffee, -please? We’ve been----” - -“Get out of my yard,” was the prompt response. “I don’t feed tramps!” - -“We aren’t tramps, ma’am. We’ll pay for the coffee----” - -“And steal the doormat! I know your sort!” There was no doormat in -sight, but Wayne didn’t notice the fact. “Go on now before I call my -man to you.” The door slammed shut. - -Wayne viewed June in surprise and the negro boy shook his head -helplessly. “She surely is a powerful disgrumpled lady, Mas’ Wayne! -Yes, sir! Reckon we better move along.” - -“Maybe she isn’t well,” said Wayne, as they left the inhospitable -dwelling behind and again climbed to the track. “Just the same, she -didn’t have any right to call us tramps, did she? I suppose we’d better -keep on to the town, June. It isn’t much farther.” - -So they went on, past sidings laden with long lines of freight cars, -past locomotives sizzling idly, past a crossing where eight burnished -rails, aglow in the sunlight, crossed their path, under a big signal -tower, their eyes very busy and their stomachs, since they had not -eaten since early the preceding afternoon, very empty. A long freight -shed was reached, and as they passed it one of the many doors slid -slowly open and a brawny man stood revealed against the dimness beyond. -He stretched his arms, yawned, caught sight of the passers and stood -there, framed in the square opening, staring interestedly. Wayne -stopped. - -“Howdy,” he said. “Can you tell me where I can get something to eat, -sir?” - -“Sure! Cross over back of the yellow building and you’ll see a -lunch-wagon. Maybe you’re looking for the hotel, though?” - -Wayne shook his head. “I reckon a lunch-wagon’s good enough. What is -this place, please?” - -“Medfield, son. Aren’t lost, are you?” - -“No, sir. What--what state are we in?” - -“Pennsylvania. What state might you be looking for, son?” - -“New York. Is it very far?” - -“Second state on the right,” laughed the man. “What part of it are you -aiming for?” - -“New York City, I reckon. How far would that be?” - -“About a hundred and fifty miles.” - -Wayne sighed. “I thought we were nearer than that. Thank you, sir.” - -“Say, hold on! Where’d you come from, anyway?” - -Wayne pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “Back there a ways,” he -answered vaguely. - -“Tramping it?” - -“Yes, sir, some. Rode on the cars, too.” - -The big man in the doorway winked down at him. “When they didn’t see -you, eh? You look like a smart kid. What are you beating your way -around the country for? Why don’t you get a job and go to work?” - -“I’m looking for work,” answered Wayne eagerly. “Know where I can find -some?” - -The man shrugged his shoulders. “I guess you won’t have to look very -far, son, if you really want a job. The trouble with your sort is that -you don’t _want_ to work. How far south do you come from?” - -“Georgia, sir. How’d you know?” - -“How’d I know!” laughed the man. “That’s a good one! What’s Friday’s -name?” - -“What, sir?” asked Wayne, puzzled. - -The man nodded at Wayne’s companion. “What’s his name? Abraham Lincoln -White?” - -“June,” answered Wayne, a trifle stiffly, beginning to suspect that the -man was laughing at him. - -“June, eh? Say, he got North about three months too soon, didn’t he? -Where’d you get the alligator hound? Don’t you ever feed him anything?” - -Wayne moved away, followed by his retinue, but the man in the door was -blind to offended dignity. “All right, son!” he called after them. -“Good luck! Tell Denny that Jim Mason sent you and that he’s to give -you a good feed.” - -Wayne found the lunch-wagon without difficulty, but it didn’t seem -to him that it deserved the name of wagon for it was set on a brick -foundation in a weed-grown piece of land under the shadow of the big -yellow factory and looked as though it had been there for many years. -Still, there might be wheels hidden behind the bricks, he reflected. -The words “Golden Star Lunch” were painted on the front. They climbed -the steps and seated themselves on stools, while Sam searched -famishedly about the floor for stray crumbs. The proprietor was a -short, chunky youth with light hair slicked down close and a generous -supply of the biggest and reddest freckles Wayne had ever seen. He -observed June doubtfully. - -“We don’t generally feed niggers here,” he said. “You two fellers -together?” - -“Yes,” answered Wayne. “If you don’t want to serve him we’ll get out.” -He started to slide off the stool. - -“Oh, well, never mind,” said the white-aproned youth. “The rush is over -now. What’ll you have?” - -“Coffee and two ham sandwiches, please.” - -“Mas’ Wayne,” said June, “I’d rather have a piece of that sweet-potato -pie yonder, please, sir.” - -“That ain’t sweet-potato pie,” laughed the proprietor. “That’s squash, -Snowball.” - -“Please, sir, Mister, don’t call me out of my name,” begged June -earnestly. “My name’s Junius.” - -“All right, Junius.” The proprietor of the lunch-wagon grinned at Wayne -and winked, but Wayne only frowned. - -“You’ll have a sandwich, June,” he said. “Pie isn’t good for you. Two -ham sandwiches, please.” - -“All right, sir.” - -June watched wistfully while the knife slipped through the end of the -ham, and at last hunger got the better of manners. “Mister Denny, sir, -would you please, sir, just bear down a little heavier on that fat -meat?” he requested. - -“Sure, you can have all the fat you want. How’d you know my name, -though?” - -Wayne answered for him. “A man at the freight shed directed us.” - -“Yes, sir, and he said we was to tell you to give us a mighty good -feed, Mister Denny,” added June. “But I reckon you-all goin’ to do that -anyway, ain’ you?” - -The proprietor laughed as he covered two slices of buttered bread -with generous slices of ham. “That’s right, Snow--I mean Junius,” he -responded. “If that ain’t enough you come back. Want something for your -dog?” - -“Thanks, I’ll give him some of my sandwich,” said Wayne, trying not to -look impatient. - -“You don’t need to.” The man scooped up some trimmings from the ham -on the blade of the broad knife, dumped them on a slice of bread and -leaned over the counter. “Here you are, Bingo. Catch!” Sam caught as -much as he could and it disappeared as though by magic. After that he -licked up the few scraps that had got away from him, wagged his tail -delightedly, and gazed inquiringly and invitingly up again. “Say, he’s -a smart dog, ain’t he?” said the man. “What’s his name?” - -“Sam. Are those sandwiches ready, please?” - -“Huh? Gee, didn’t I serve you yet? What do you know about that? Coffee, -you said, didn’t you? Here you are.” He went back to an appraisal of -the dog while Wayne and June, side by side, drank deep draughts of the -hot coffee and bit huge mouthfuls from the delicious sandwiches. “Guess -some more breakfast wouldn’t bust him,” said the proprietor, cutting -off another slice of bread and buttering it liberally. “Can he do any -tricks?” - -“A few,” replied Wayne rather inarticulately by reason of having his -mouth occupied by other things than words. “Sit up, Sam, and ask for -it.” - -Sam sat up, a trifle unsteadily, and barked three shrill barks. The man -laughed. “Good boy! Here you are, then!” The piece of bread disappeared -instantly. “Say, he’s sure hungry! What kind of a dog is he?” - -“Reckon he’s just dog,” answered Wayne. “He don’t boast of his family -much, Sam don’t, but he’s a good old chap.” - -“Man over yonder at the railroad called him a alligator hound,” said -June resentfully. “That’s the best dog in Colquitt County, Mister -Denny. Yes, sir!” - -“Where’s that, Junius?” - -“Colquitt? That’s where we lives at when we’re to home. Colquitt -County’s the finest----” - -“Shut up, June. Don’t talk so much,” said Wayne. “Sam, stand up and -march for the gentleman. Come on! Forward! March!” - -Sam removed his appealing gaze from the countenance of “Mister Denny,” -sighed--you could actually hear that sigh!--reared himself on his -slender hind legs and stepped stiffly down the length of the floor and -back again. - -“Halt!” commanded Wayne, and Sam halted so suddenly that he almost -went over backward. “Salute!” Sam’s right paw flopped up and down in a -sketchy salute. “Fall out!” Sam came down on all-fours with alacrity, -barked his relief and again took up his station under the good-natured -“Mr. Denny.” The latter applauded warmly. - -“Some dog you’ve got there, kid!” he declared. “What’ll you take for -him?” - -“I wouldn’t sell him,” answered Wayne, washing down the last of his -sandwich with the final mouthful of coffee. - -“Give you ten dollars,” said the man. - -Wayne shook his head with decision. - -“Fifteen? Well, any time you do want to sell him, Mister, you give me -first chance, will you? He’s going to have some more breakfast for that -stunt.” - -“Mas’ Wayne,” said June softly, “I ain’ never eat any of that squash -pie, an’ it surely does look powerful handsome, don’ it?” - -“You still hungry?” frowned Wayne. - -“I ain’ downright hungry,” answered June wistfully, “but I--I surely -would act awful kind to a piece of that pie!” - -“All right,” said Wayne. “How much is pie, sir?” - -“Five cents. Want some?” - -“Please. A slice of the squash.” - -The proprietor, too busy with Sam to have heard the exchange, set the -pie in front of Wayne, and the latter pushed it along to June. - -“Did you say two pieces?” asked the man, poising his knife. - -“No, thank you.” - -June looked uncertainly from the tempting yellow triangle on the plate -before him to Wayne and back again. “Ain’ you-all goin’ to have no -pie?” he asked. Wayne shook his head. June laid down the fork and -sniffed doubtfully. “What kind of pie you say this is, Mister Denny?” -he asked. - -“Huh? Squash pie.” - -“Uh-huh. I reckon I don’ care for it, thanky, sir. It don’ smell like I -thought it would.” - -“Don’t be a fool!” whispered Wayne. “I don’t want any.” - -“Say you don’? I ain’ believin’ it, though. Please, Mas’ Wayne, you -have a half of it. It’s a powerful big piece of pie.” - -“Lots more here,” said the proprietor. “Want another piece?” - -“No, thanks,” answered Wayne. “I--maybe I’ll take a bite of his.” - -The man’s reply to this was a quick slash of his knife and a second -section of the squash pie slid across the counter. “My treat,” he said. -“Try it. It’s good pie.” - -Wayne hesitated. “I don’t think I want any,” he muttered. “I’m not -hungry.” - -“You eat it if you don’t want me to get mad at you,” said the other, -levelling the knife at him sternly. “If you can’t eat it all give it to -Sam. I’ll bet you he likes pie, eh, Sammy?” - -Wayne smiled and, to June’s vast relief, ate. Perhaps he wasn’t hungry -and perhaps it was mere politeness that caused him to consume every -last crumb, but he had the appearance of one in thorough enjoyment of -his task. When both plates were cleaned up Wayne dug a hand into a -pocket. - -“How much do we owe you, please?” he asked. - -“Twenty cents. The pie was on me.” - -“I’d rather--rather----” Wayne’s remark dwindled to silence and he -began an anxious search of all his pockets, a proceeding that brought -a look of suspicion into the good-natured face of the man behind the -counter. - -“Lost your money?” asked the latter with a trace of sarcasm. - -Wayne nodded silently. “I reckon I must have,” he muttered, turning -out one pocket after another and assembling the contents on the -counter; the tattered time-table, a toothbrush, a pair of stockings, -two handkerchiefs, a knife, a pencil, some string, and two-cent stamp -vastly the worse for having laid crumpled up in a vest pocket for many -weeks. “It--it’s gone,” said Wayne blankly. “I had nearly four dollars -last night, didn’t I, June?” - -“Yes, sir, you certainly did, Mas’ Wayne, ’cause I seen it. Where you -reckon you lost it?” - -“I don’t know,” answered the other boy miserably. “It was in this -pocket. I reckon it must have come out in the freight car.” - -The proprietor of the lunch wagon frowned. It was an old game to him, -but there was something apparently genuine in the troubled expressions -of both boys and he was almost inclined to accept the story. At all -events, it was only twenty cents, and he was good-hearted and the two -youngsters looked rather down on their luck. “Well, never mind,” he -said carelessly. “You can pay me some other time, kids.” - -But Wayne shook his head. “You--you haven’t any money, have you, June?” -he faltered. June shook his head sadly. - -“I didn’t have but two bits, Mas’ Wayne, and I went an’ spent that long -time ago.” - -“You see,” said Wayne, turning to the proprietor, “we don’t live here. -We’re just--just passing through on our way to New York, and so we -couldn’t very well pay you later.” He looked dubiously at the array of -property before him. “I reckon there ain’t anything there worth twenty -cents, is there?” - -“Not to me, I guess.” - -“Then--then you’ll just have to keep Sam until we can bring the money,” -said Wayne desperately. “I reckon we can earn it somewhere. Will you -please to do that, sir?” - -The man looked covetously at the dog, but shook his head. “Shucks,” he -answered, “he’d only be unhappy. And so would you, I guess. You run -along, fellers. It’s all right. I guess you’ll pay me when you can, eh? -Only--say, now, honest, kid, did you really have that four dollars, or -are you just stringing me?” - -Wayne flushed but met the man’s gaze squarely. “I had it,” he replied -simply. “You haven’t any call to think I’m lying.” - -“All right! I believe you. Now, look here, do you really want to earn a -half-dollar?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“Ever washed windows?” - -Wayne shook his head. “No, but I reckon I could do it.” - -“Well, these windows need washing pretty badly. Generally I do it -myself, but I’d rather take a lickin’. There’s eight of ’em and it -ought to be worth five cents a window. That’s forty cents, but we’ll -call it fifty. What do you say?” - -“I’ll do them, thanks, and mighty glad to,” answered Wayne eagerly. - -“Huh!” ejaculated June. “Go on away from here, Mas’ Wayne. You ain’ -never washed no window in your life. White man, point me out to water -and rags and _let_ me to it. Mas’ Wayne ain’ never done no work like -that an’ there ain’ no call for him to do any.” June paused and looked -at the windows. “Mister Denny, them’s pretty big windows an’ they -certainly is dirty, ain’ they?” - -“What’s the matter with you? Ain’t fifty cents enough?” - -“Well, sir,” answered June slowly, “it is an’ it ain’. Takin’ into -estimation the size of them windows an’ the ’mount of washin’ required, -sir, it seems like you might throw in two more cups of that yere -coffee, sir!” - -“Junius, you’re all right!” laughed the man, turning to the gleaming -coffee urn. “It’s a bargain. Drink your coffee and then get to work. If -you do a good job I’ll throw in a sandwich when you’re through!” - - - - -CHAPTER III - -THE SEARCH FOR WORK - - -Two hours later the boys, followed by Sam, left the lunch-wagon, -possessed of thirty cents in money and with all liabilities discharged. -Wayne, declaring that, although he had never washed a window in his -life, it was time he learned how, had, to June’s disgust, taken a -hand in the work, and, while he had done only three windows to June’s -five, had proved his ability. Afterward, Mr. Dennis Connor--for that, -as they later learned, was his real name--had provided a collation of -sandwiches and coffee and dismissed them with his good wishes and an -invitation to drop in again when they were passing. - -It was mid-morning now, and the sunshine had warmed the early March -day to a temperature more kindly than any they had experienced for a -week. Wayne led the way to a sheltered nook in the lee of an empty -shed near the railroad and seated himself on a discarded wheelbarrow. -June followed suit and Sam began an excited search for rats. The town -was wide-awake and very busy now. Smoke poured from neighbouring -stacks and chimneys and the roar of machinery came to them from the big -factory close by. Trains passed and locomotives shrieked and clanged -their brazen bells. Drays and trucks moved noisily along the cobbled -street in the direction of the freight yard, piled high with goods in -bales and boxes. - -“Reckon,” said June, “this is a right smart town, Mas’ Wayne.” - -Wayne nodded. He was still regretting the loss of his money and now he -reverted to the question of how and where he had parted from it. They -discussed it at some length and eventually decided that it had somehow -got out of his pocket last night in the freight car. To be quite, quite -certain that it was really gone, Wayne once more emptied his pockets -and turned them all inside out. But the money was not there and June -shook his kinky head in silent sympathy. Sam gave up his rat hunt and -threw himself, panting, in the sunlight at the boys’ feet. - -“Well, it’s gone,” said Wayne finally. “And there’s no use crying about -it. But what I want to know is how we’re to get to New York on thirty -cents. That man said it was about a hundred and fifty miles and I -reckon it’ll take us ’most a week, don’t you?” - -“Depends,” said June. “If we’s lucky and gets plenty of free rides----” - -“They’re too particular around here,” interrupted Wayne sadly. “I -reckon it’ll be mighty hard to get into freight cars after this, June. -We’ll just have to foot it, and thirty cents won’t last long on the -road. Folks ain’t awfully hospitable up North, I’ve heard, and we can’t -depend on getting meals free. Anyway, I don’t want to. It’s too much -like begging. That man as much as called us tramps, and that woman said -we _were_ tramps. Well, we aren’t. We’ve paid for everything anyone -would let us pay for, so far, excepting the rides we stole, and those -don’t count, I reckon. Seems to me like the only thing to do now, June, -is to stay right here and earn some money before we go any further. -There’s no use trying to walk to New York with only thirty cents.” - -June agreed cheerfully enough to that proposition. After all, it made -little difference to him. New York City or Medfield, it was all one. To -be sure, they had started out for New York, but it was Wayne who had -settled on that place as their destination, and June would have been -just as well satisfied if Wayne had decided for Reykjavik, Iceland. -Besides, it was now almost three weeks since they had stolen away from -Sleepersville, Georgia, and June’s first enthusiasm for wandering had -faded sadly. In short, the idea of remaining stationary in one place -for a while struck him as being very attractive. And perhaps the same -thought came to Wayne, for, having reached the decision, he sighed as -if with relief. It may have been, probably was, merely a coincidence, -but Sam, stretched flat on the ground at Wayne’s feet, echoed the sigh. - -Perhaps no better opportunity will present itself for a study of our -hero and his companions and so we will make the most of it. Wayne Sloan -was seventeen years old; to be exact, seventeen years and nineteen -days. It had been the arrival of his seventeenth birthday that had -decided him to cast off the yoke of thraldom and become his own master. -He was a capable-looking youth, fairly large for his age. He had -wide shoulders and carried himself straightly, a fact largely due, I -fancy, to many hours spent in the saddle in his younger days. After -the death of his mother, which had occurred four years ago, there had -been neither saddle nor horse for him, nor, had there been a horse, -would there have been opportunity for riding. His stepfather had his -own notions regarding the proper occupations for a boy, notions that -were at wide variance with Wayne’s. Handsome the boy was not, but you -would have called him nice-looking. You’d have liked his eyes, which -were so deeply brown that they seemed black, and the oval smoothness -of his face which lacked the colourlessness of so many Southern faces. -His hair was fully as dark as his eyes and as straight as an Indian’s, -and just now, by reason of not having been cut for a month or so, was -rather untidy about ears and neck. His nose was--well, it was just a -plain, everyday affair, meriting no especial mention. And his mouth -was no more remarkable. In fact, there was nothing to emphasise, from -head to toes. He was just a nice-appearing, well-built Southern boy. At -present his appearance was rather handicapped by his attire, for even -the best of clothes will look shabby after nearly three weeks of dusty -roads and dirty box cars, and Wayne’s apparel had not been anything -to brag about in the beginning. A pair of gray trousers that only the -most charitable would have called woolen, a vest of the same, a coat -of blue serge, and a gray sweater comprised the more important part -of his outfit. A black felt hat of the Fedora variety, ridiculously -old-looking for the boyish face beneath, dark-blue cotton socks showing -above a pair of rusty, dusty, scuffed-toed shoes, and a wispy blue -string tie peering from under the wrinkled collar of a blue-and-white -cotton shirt completed as much of his wardrobe as met the world’s gaze. - -But in the matter of wardrobe Wayne at least had the better of his -companion. Junius Brutus Bartow Tasker was never a dandy. Just -something to cover him up more or less was all June asked. His -shoes, which had been new just before the beginning of the present -pilgrimage, were the most presentable item of his attire. They only -needed blacking. The other things he wore needed about everything, -including patches, buttons, and cleaning! His cheap cotton trousers -would have proved an embarrassment to anyone of a less philosophical -nature, his shirt was sadly torn and his coat--well, that coat had been -a wreck a year ago and had not improved any since! Between the tops of -his shoes and the frayed bottoms of his trousers appeared a crinkled -expanse of gray yarn socks, to the public all that socks should be, -but to June only two hollow mockeries. Below his ankle bones lay ruin -and desolation. On his kinky head was a brown felt, or what had once -been a brown felt. It no longer deserved serious consideration as a -head covering. But all this didn’t bother June much. As I have already -hinted, he was a philosopher, and a cheerful one. You had only to -look at him to realise that. He had a perfectly round face, as round -as a cannon ball--and lots blacker--a pair of merry brown eyes which -rolled ludicrously under the stress of emotion, a wide, vividly red -mouth filled with startlingly white teeth, a nose no flatter than was -appropriate to one of his race, and ears that stood out inquiringly at -right angles. He looked and was intelligent, and, barring the colour of -his skin, was not greatly different in essentials from the white boy -beside him. June was sixteen, as near as he could tell; his mother’s -memory for ages was uncertain, and June couldn’t consult his father on -the question for the simple reason that his father had disappeared very -soon after June’s arrival in the world. Besides, there were five other -youthful Taskers, some older and some younger, and June’s mother might -well be excused for uncertainty as to the exact age of any one of them. - -We have left only one member of the trio to be described, and his -outward appearance may be told in few words. Sam was small, yellowish -and alert. He had been intended for a fox terrier, perhaps, but had -received the wrong colouring. In Missouri or Mississippi he would -have been labelled “fice,” which is equivalent to saying that he was -a terrier-like dog of no particular breed. But like many of his sort, -Sam made up for his lack of aristocracy by possessing all the virtues -that one demands in a dog. That small head of his contained a brain -that must have felt absolutely crowded! I dare say that that is the -way the Lord makes it up to little, no-account yellow dogs like Sam. -He gives them big brains and big hearts, and so they get through life -without ever feeling the want of blue ribbons on their collars. It -would, I think, have been a frightful shock to Sam if anyone had tied -a ribbon on him, blue or any other colour! He wouldn’t have approved -a bit. In fact, he would have been most unhappy until he had gotten -it off and tried the taste of it. So far no one had ever attempted -such an indignity. Even a collar was something that Sam had his doubts -about. When he had one he put up with it uncomplainingly, but you could -see that it didn’t make him a bit happier. Just now he wore a leather -strap about his neck. It had once been used to hold Wayne’s schoolbooks -together, but Sam didn’t know that, and wouldn’t have cared if he had. -I forgot to say that a perfectly good tail had been early sacrificed -to the dictates of an inhuman fashion, and that now only a scant two -inches remained. To see Sam wag that two inches made you realise what a -perfectly glorious time he could have had with the whole appendage had -it been left to him. Sometimes in moments of strong mental excitement -his keen, affectionate brown eyes seemed trying to say something like -that! But my few words have grown too many, and I find that I have -devoted nearly as much space to Sam as to his master. But as Sam is not -likely to receive much attention hereafter let us not begrudge it to -him. - -Meanwhile Wayne had laid his plans. If thirty cents was not sufficient -to finance the journey to New York, neither was it sufficient -to provide food and lodging for them indefinitely in Medfield. -Consequently, it behooved them to add to that sum by hook or by crook, -and it was decided that they should begin right away and look for work -to do. With that object in view they presently left the sunny side of -the little shed and set off, Wayne and Sam in one direction and June -in another, to reassemble at twilight. Wayne wanted June to take ten -of the precious thirty cents to buy luncheon with, but June scoffed. -“I don’t need no ten cents, Mas’ Wayne,” he declared. “I can find me -somethin’ to eat without no ten cents. An’ I don’t need nothin’ else, -anyhow, not before night. I’m jus’ plumb full of food now!” - -Wayne’s experiences that day were disheartening. Medfield was a town -of nearly thirty thousand inhabitants, but not one of that number, it -appeared, was in need of Wayne’s services, nor cared whether he lived -or starved. He made his way to the centre of the town and visited store -after store, and office after office, climbing many weary flights and -knocking at many inhospitable doors while Sam waited outside in patient -resignation. At noon Wayne lunched in a shabby and none-too-clean -little restaurant on five cents’ worth of beef stew and two pieces of -bread, feeling a bit panicky as he did so, because five from thirty -left only what June would have called “two bits” and Wayne a quarter, -and which, no matter what you called it, was a frighteningly small -amount of money to have between you and nothing. But he felt a heap -better after that stew and went back to his task with more courage. Sam -felt better, too, for he had had a whole slice of bread dipped in gravy -and a nice gristly bone. - -The trouble was that when, as happened very infrequently, to be sure, -but did happen, he was asked what he could do he had to answer either -“Anything” or “Nothing.” Of course he chose to say “Anything,” but -the result was always disappointing. As one crabbed, much-bewhiskered -man in a hardware store told him, “Anything means nothing.” After -that Wayne boldly presented himself at the busy office of a dry-goods -emporium and offered himself as a bookkeeper. It was more a relief than -a disappointment when the dapper man in charge informed him, after a -dubious examination of his attire, that there was no present vacancy. -Wayne was conscious of the amused glances of the men at the desks as -he hurried out. It was almost dusk when he finally gave up and turned -his steps toward the deserted shed near the railway. He had trouble in -finding it, walking many blocks out of his way and for a space fearing -that darkness would overtake him before he reached it. In the end it -was Sam who kept him from making a second mistake, for Wayne was for -passing the shed a block away until the dog’s insistence on turning -down a dim, cobble-paved street brought the search to an end. - -June was already on hand, squatting comfortably on the wheelbarrow -and crooning to himself in the twilight. Sam showed his delight in -the reunion by licking June’s face while Wayne discouragedly lowered -himself to a seat at the darkey’s side. - -“Any luck?” he asked tiredly. - -“Nothin’ permanent, Mas’ Wayne, but I done earned us another two bits. -This is a right smart town, this is. Nobody don’t have to go hungry in -this town, no, sir!” - -Wayne tried to keep the envy out of his voice as he answered: “That’s -great, June. How did you do it?” - -“Man was rollin’ barrels up a board to a wagon and every time he got a -barrel half-way up the board his horses would start a-movin’ off an’ -he’d jus’ have to drop that barrel an’ run to their heads. I ask him, -‘Please, sir, don’t you want me to hold ’em for you?’ An’ he ’lowed -he did. An’ I say, ‘How much you goin’ to give me, sir?’ And he say -if I hold ’em till he got his wagon loaded he’d give me a quarter. -’Twan’t no time till he had the barrels on an’ I had his ol’ quarter -in my jeans. Then I see a funny little man with gold rings in his ears -sittin’ on a step sellin’ candy, an’ funny twisty pieces of bread -an’ apples, an’ things. An’ I say to him, ‘How much are your apples, -Boss?’ An’ he say, ‘They’re two for five cents.’ ‘Huh,’ I say, ‘they -give ’em poor old apples away where I come from.’ An’ he want to know -where was I come from, an’ I tell him, an’ we had a right sociable time -a-talkin’ an’ all, an’ pretty soon he find a apple had a rotten spot -on it an’ give it to me. An’ after a while I say, ‘Boss, what you-all -call them funny, curly things you got on that stick?’ An’ he ’lows -they’s--they’s----” June wrinkled his forehead until it had almost as -many corrugations as a washboard--“I reckon I forget what he call them, -Mas’ Wayne.” - -“What were they like, June?” - -“Well, sir, they was bow-knots made of bread, an’ they tasted mighty -scrumptious. Seems like they was called ‘pistols’ or somethin’.” - -“Pretzels, June?” - -“That’s it! Pretzels! You know them things, Mas’ Wayne?” Wayne shook -his head. “Well, sir, they’s mighty good eatin’.” - -“Did he give you one?” asked Wayne smiling. - -“Yes, sir, he surely did. I say I ain’ never eat one an’ he say if I -have a penny I could have one. ‘Go long, Mister Man,’ I say, ‘I ain’ -got no penny. How come you ’spects I got all that money?’ An’ he laugh -an’ say, ‘Well, maybe I give you one, Black Boy, if you don’ tell -someone elses.’ He had funny way of talkin’, that man. So I say I won’t -ever tell----” - -“But you have told,” laughed Wayne. - -June rolled his eyes. “That’s so! I plumb forget!” - -“Was that all the lunch you had?” asked Wayne. - -June nodded. “Was all I wanted,” he declared stoutly. “Apples is -powerful fillin’ fruit, Mas’ Wayne. What-all did you have?” - -Wayne told him and June pretended to think very little of it. “That -ain’ white man’s food,” he declared. “Old stewed-up beef ain’ fit -rations for you. No, sir, ’tain’! Don’t you go insultin’ your stomach -like that no more, Mas’ Wayne, ’cause if you do you’re goin’ to be sick -an’ me an’ Sam’ll have to nurse you. Now you tell me what-all did you -do, please.” - -Wayne soon told him and June shook his head and made sympathetic noises -in his throat during the brief recital. “Don’t you mind ’em, Mas’ -Wayne,” he said when the other had finished. “Somebody’s goin’ to be -powerful glad to give you a job tomorrow. You wait an’ see if they -ain’.” - -“I can’t do anything, I’m afraid,” said Wayne despondently. “They all -ask me what I can do and I have to tell them ‘Nothing.’ I can’t even -wash windows decently!” - -“Who say you can do nothin’?” demanded June indignantly. “I reckon -you’re a heap smarter than these yere Northerners! Ain’ you been to -school an’ learn all about everythin’? Geography an’ ’rithmatic an’ -algebrum an’ all? What for you say you don’ know nothin’?” - -Wayne laughed wanly. “Arithmetic and those things aren’t much use to -a fellow, it seems to me, when he’s looking for work. If I’d learned -bookkeeping I might get a job.” - -“You done kep’ them books for your stepdaddy.” - -“That wasn’t real bookkeeping, June. Anyone could do that. The only -things I can do aren’t much use up here; like ride and shoot a little -and----” - -“An’ knock the leather off’n a baseball,” added June. - -“I guess no one’s going to pay me for doing that,” commented Wayne, -with a smile. “Well, there’s no use borrowing trouble, I reckon. There -must be something I can do, June, and I’ll find it sooner or later. I -reckon I made a mistake in going around to the offices. If I’d tried -the warehouses and factories I might have found something. That’s what -I’ll do tomorrow.” - -“You goin’ to set yourself some mighty hard work, Mas’ Wayne, if you -get foolin’ ’roun’ the factories. Better leave that kind of work for -me, sir. That’s nigger work, that is.” - -“It’s white men’s work up here in the North, June. I’m strong enough -and I’m willing, and I’m just going to find something tomorrow. -Question now is, June, where are we going to get our supper and where -are we going to sleep? Fifty cents will buy supper but it won’t buy -beds, too.” - -“I been thinkin’ about that sleepin’ business,” answered June. “I -reckon we can’ do no better than stay right where we is.” - -“Here?” asked Wayne. “Someone would come along and arrest us or -something. Besides, a wheelbarrow----” - -“No, sir, I don’ mean out here. I mean in yonder.” June nodded toward -the old shed beside them. “I was projeckin’ roun’ before you-all come -back an’ there ain’ nothin’ wrong with this yere little house, Mas’ -Wayne.” - -“Oh,” said Wayne. “Is it empty?” - -“Yes, sir, it surely is empty. There ain’ nothin’ in there but empty. -It ’pears like it used to be a store, ’cause there’s shelves up the -walls. An’ there’s a floor, too.” - -“Do we sleep on the floor or the shelves?” asked Wayne. - -“Shelves is too narrow,” chuckled June. “If we jus’ had a blanket or -two, now, I reckon we’d be mighty comfortable.” - -“Might as well wish for a bed with a hair mattress and pillows and -sheets,” answered Wayne. “But I’d rather sleep under a roof tonight -than outdoors, so we’ll just be glad of the shed, June. Now let’s go -and find us some supper. Come on, Sam, you rascal!” - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -DISPOSSESSED - - -If one is tired enough such luxuries as beds and blankets may be -dispensed with. Wayne and June slept more uninterruptedly that night -than for many nights past. Toward morning they were conscious of the -cold, for Wayne’s coat and an old gunny-sack discovered in a corner of -the shed were not sufficient to more than cover their feet and legs. -Sam, curled up in Wayne’s arms, doubtless fared better than the boys. -When morning came they were stiff and achy and were glad enough to get -up at the first signs of sunrise and move around. The want of a place -to wash resulted in the discovery of a veritable haven of warmth and -rest, for Wayne, peering about from the front of the shed, descried the -railroad station only a few blocks down the track, and toward that they -made their way. They found the waiting-room door unlocked and warmth -and comfort inside. After washing up they settled themselves on a bench -removed from the sight of the ticket window and fairly luxuriated in -the warmth. June fell asleep again and snored so loudly that Wayne -had to arouse him for fear that someone would hear him and drive them -out. Wayne himself didn’t actually slumber, but he leaned back in a -half-doze that was almost as restful as sleep, and Sam, restraining his -desire to investigate these new surroundings, presently slept, too. - -It was hunger that finally aroused them to action. The clock on the -wall told them that it was almost half-past seven, and they left the -waiting-room and passed out again into the chill of the March morning. -But the sun was shining strongly now and there was a spring softness -in the air that made June whistle gaily as they made their way back up -the railroad in search of “Mister Denny’s” lunch-wagon. There they had -some steaming hot coffee, and some crisp rolls and butter and, since -there was still a nickel in the exchequer, three bananas which they -consumed outside. To be sure, that left them penniless, but somehow -that didn’t seem to matter so much this morning. There was something -in the spring-like air that gave them courage and confidence. Besides, -whatever happened, they had a home, such as it was, in the old shed. -Presently they again set forth on their search for employment, agreeing -to meet at five o’clock. - -But again it was June who prospered and Wayne who returned empty-handed. -June proudly displayed forty cents in dimes and nickels which he had -earned in as many capacities as there were coins in his hand. Not only -had he earned that forty cents, but he had dined sumptuously on a pork -chop, having traded a quarter of an hour of his time and labour for that -delicacy at a little restaurant. For his part, Wayne had gone dinnerless -and was thoroughly discouraged. Even the tattered but still useful horse -blanket which June had picked up outside a flour mill across the town -could not cheer Wayne’s spirits. - -“Reckon,” said June, spreading the blanket out proudly, “someone done -lose that as didn’t mean to, Mas’ Wayne, ’cause it’s a powerful nice -blanket, ain’ it?” Wayne listlessly agreed and June dropped it through -the window which was their means of ingress and egress. “It’s goin’ to -keep us fine an’ warm tonight, that little ol’ blanket is. Tomorrow I’m -goin’ to find me a bed to go with it! You hungry enough to eat, Mas’ -Wayne?” - -Wayne shook his head. “I don’t want any supper,” he replied. - -“Don’ want no supper! How come? What-all you have for your dinner, -please?” - -“I had enough,” answered Wayne. “You go ahead and have your supper, -June.” - -June snorted. “Mighty likely, ain’ it?” he demanded scathingly. “Reckon -you can see this nigger eatin’ all by his lonely. No, sir, Mas’ Wayne, -you-all’s goin’ to eat, too. If you don’ there ain’ goin’ to be no -supper for nobody.” - -“I tell you I’m not hungry,” replied Wayne irritably. “Besides, if you -must know, I haven’t any money.” - -“Say you ain’? You’ve got forty cents. How come that ain’ enough money -to buy us some supper?” - -“That’s your money, not mine,” said Wayne bitterly. “You earned it. I -didn’t. I’m not going to live off you. You go get your supper and let -me alone.” - -“I earned it for all of us,” said June earnestly. “Reckon you paid a -heap of money to buy victuals for me, Mas’ Wayne, all the way up from -Sleepersville, didn’ you, sir?” - -“That’s different,” muttered the other. - -“How come it’s different? Please, sir, don’ you be uppity an’ proud. -Ever since we was little fellers together, Mas’ Wayne, you done give me -money; two bits here, an’ two bits there, an’ a dime yonder. How come I -can’ pay it back to you?” - -“A gentleman doesn’t--doesn’t do that,” returned Wayne stubbornly. - -“You mean ’cause you’re white an’ I’m black?” - -“Never mind what I mean. Anyway, I’m not hungry, so shut up.” - -June obeyed, scuffling his shoes in the cinders underfoot and staring -sadly at the sunset glow beyond the factory roofs to the west. Sam had -found a very old and very dry bone somewhere and was pretending that it -was quite new and delicious. He even growled once or twice, although -there was no other dog in sight, perhaps to convince himself that he -really had discovered a prize. Minutes passed and the western sky faded -from crimson to yellow, and from yellow to gray. Finally Wayne stole a -look at June. - -“You’d better be going,” he growled. - -“I ain’ aimin’ to go, Mas’ Wayne,” replied June earnestly. “Reckon I -ain’ no hungrier than you is.” - -“I don’t care whether you are or not,” declared the other angrily. “I -say you’re to go and get some supper. Now you go.” - -June shook his head. “Not without you come along,” he answered. - -“You do as I tell you, June!” - -“I’m wishin’ to, Mas’ Wayne, but I jus’ can’, sir.” - -“Well, you just will! If you don’t start right along I’ll whale you, -Junius!” - -“Yes, sir, Mas’ Wayne, you can do that, but you-all can’ make me eat no -supper. That’s somethin’ you _can’_ do.” - -“If you can’t do as I tell you you’ll have to get out. You think just -because you’re up North here you can do as you please. Well, I’ll show -you. Are you going to obey me?” - -“Please, sir, Mas’ Wayne, I’m goin’ to do everythin’ just like you tell -me, savin’ that! I jus’ can’ go an’ eat anythin’ ’less you come along. -I’m powerful sorry, hones’ to goodness, Mas’ Wayne, but you can see how -’tis.” - -Wayne muttered something that sounded far from complimentary, and -relapsed into dignified silence. The white stars came out one by one -and the chill of evening made itself felt. Sam tired of pretending and -begged to be taken up by Wayne, but Wayne brushed his paws aside. June -sat motionless on his end of the old wheelbarrow and made no sound. -Now, when you haven’t had anything to eat since early morning and -have tramped miles over city pavements pride is all very well but it -doesn’t butter any parsnips. Besides, Wayne realised just as clearly -as you or I, or almost as clearly, that he was making a mountain of a -molehill and that if he wasn’t so tired and discouraged he wouldn’t -have hesitated to share June’s earnings. But pride, even false pride, -is always stubborn, and it was well toward dark before Wayne shrugged -his shoulders impatiently and jumped up from his seat. - -“Oh, come on then, you stubborn mule,” he muttered. “If you won’t eat -without me I reckon I’ll have to go along.” - -He stalked off into the twilight and June and Sam followed, the former -with a little shuffling caper unseen of Wayne and the latter with an -ecstatic bark. - -In the morning, when they had again breakfasted none too grandly, at -the lunch-wagon, they were once more reduced to penury. Not only that, -but both boys were discovering that forty or fifty cents a day, while -sufficient to keep them from starvation, was not enough to satisfy two -healthy appetites. Neither made mention of his discovery, but Wayne, -again encouraged by food and rest, told himself resolutely that today -must end the matter, that he would find something to do before he -returned to the little shed, and June as resolutely determined to try -harder and earn more money. What Sam’s thoughts were I don’t know. Sam -didn’t seem to care much what happened so long as he could be with -Wayne. - -But all the good resolutions in the world and all the grim determination -sometimes fail, and again Fortune turned a deaf ear to Wayne’s -petitions. The nearest he came to landing a place was when a foreman at -a rambling old factory at the far end of the town offered him a job -packing spools if he could produce a union card. Wayne not only couldn’t -produce such a thing but didn’t know what it was until the foreman -impatiently explained, assuring him that there was no use in his seeking -work in the factories unless he first became a member of a union. This -was something of an exaggeration, as Wayne ultimately learned, but for -the present it was sufficient to just about double his load of -discouragement. He confined his efforts to shops and places of retail -business after that but had no luck, and returned to the shed when the -street lights began to appear, hungry and tired and ready to give up, to -find that Fate was not yet through with him for that day. - -For once June had fared almost as sadly as Wayne and only a solitary -ten-cent piece was the result of his efforts. June was apologetic and -would have recited his experiences at length, but Wayne didn’t have -the heart to listen. “It doesn’t matter, June,” he said listlessly. -“It wasn’t your fault. At that, you made ten cents more than I did. I -reckon there’s only one thing to do now.” - -“What’s that, Mas’ Wayne?” - -“Buy a stamp with two cents of that ten and write back to Mr. Higgins -for money to get home with. I reckon we’re just about at the end of the -halter, June.” - -“Don’ you believe that, Mas’ Wayne,” replied June stoutly. “An’ don’ -you go writin’ no letter to that old skinflint stepdaddy of yours. -Jus’ you give me another chance an’ see what I goin’ to bring home -tomorrow! We’ll go get us a cup of coffee an’ then we’ll feel a heap -perkier, yes, sir! An’ then we’ll jus’ go to sleep an’ get up in the -mornin’ feelin’ fine an’ start right out an’ lan’ somethin’. Don’ you -go gettin’ discouraged, Mas’ Wayne. We’s goin’ to be livin’ on the fat -of the lan’ in two-three days!” - -“There’s another town, bigger than this, June, about twenty miles from -here. Maybe we’d better mosey along over there and see if things are -any better. Seems to me I’ve been in most every place in this town -asking for work now, and I’m beginning to forget which ones I’ve been -to and which ones I haven’t.” - -“Well, I don’ know,” answered June. “Sometimes it seems like it’s the -wisest thing to stay right to home an’ not go projeckin’ ’roun’. We’s -got a comfor’ble place to sleep here, Mas’ Wayne, an’ there ain’ no -tellin’ what would happen to us if we went totin’ off to this other -place, is there? ’Spose you an’ me goes an’ has that coffee first. -Seems like I can always think a heap better after meals.” - -“A cup of coffee isn’t much of a meal,” objected Wayne, “but I reckon -it’s going to taste mighty good to me. We’ll go to the lunch-wagon for -it. You get better coffee there than the other places we’ve been to.” - -The lunch-wagon was crowded and they had to wait for several minutes -before they could get waited on by Mr. Connor. He always seemed glad -to see them and still took a great interest in Sam, but usually there -were too many others there to allow of much conversation. Tonight he -only nodded and smiled as he passed the cups to them, and they retired -to the side of the wagon and drank the beverage gratefully, wishing -there was more of it and trying hard to keep their gaze from the viands -displayed beyond the long counter. Fortunately for Sam, he had already -become acquainted with a number of the regular patrons of the Golden -Star Lunch and was almost always certain of food. The men who took -their meals there, workers in the nearby factories and railroad hands, -were for the most part rough but kindly and many crusts of bread and -scraps of meat went to Sam, who, duly grateful and willing to show -his few tricks in return for the favours bestowed on him, allowed no -familiarities. When anyone other than Wayne or June tried to pat him -he backed away, politely but firmly. - -The coffee did the boys good, although it felt awfully lonesome where -they put it, and they returned to the shed in a more cheerful frame -of mind. It was still too early to go to bed, but the station was -several blocks away and there was no nearer place to resort to, and so -presently they stretched themselves out on the floor of the shed, drew -the horse blanket over them, and were soon asleep. How much later it -was when Wayne awoke with a blinding glare of light in his eyes there -was no way of telling. - -For a moment he blinked dazedly, his brain still fogged with sleep. -Then he sat up, and Sam, disturbed, sniffed and broke into shrill -barking. June, a sounder sleeper, still snored when a gruff voice came -from the direction of the light which Wayne now realised was thrown by -a lantern. - -“What are you doing in here? Come on now! Get out!” said the voice. - -Wayne scrambled to his feet, commanding Sam to be still, and June -groaned and snorted himself awake. The light was thrown aside and, -framed in the window, Wayne could see the form of a policeman. - -“We aren’t doing any harm, sir,” said the boy. “Just sleeping here.” - -“Sleeping here, eh? Haven’t you got a home? How many are there of you?” - -“Two, sir. We are on our way to New York and we didn’t have any other -place to sleep, so we came in here.” - -“Hoboes, eh? Well, you’d better beat it before the lieutenant lamps -you. He’s down on you fellows this spring.” - -“We aren’t hoboes, sir. We’re looking for work.” - -“Yes, I know,” was the ironical response. “Well, come on out of it.” - -“But we haven’t any other place, sir. We aren’t doing any harm and----” - -“It doesn’t matter about that. What’s your name and where’d you come -from?” Wayne told him and the officer grunted. Then: “Get the other -fellow up,” he ordered, and, when June had crawled sleepily to his -feet, “Hello, a nig, eh? Travelling together, are you?” - -“Yes, sir,” answered Wayne. “We’re going to New York, but our money -gave out and we’ve been trying to earn enough to go on with.” - -“That straight goods?” - -“Yes, sir, it’s the truth, really.” - -“Well, all right. Stay where you are tonight, kids, but you’ll have -to get out tomorrow. This is private property and I can’t have you -trespassing. You’d be welcome to stay as long as you liked if I had -the say, but I haven’t. So don’t let me find you here tomorrow night or -I’ll have to run you in. Good night, boys.” - -The lantern’s glare vanished and the policeman’s steps went crunching -off on the cinders. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -WAYNE PARTS WITH SAM - - -There was no breakfast the next morning other than copious draughts of -water from the tank in the station waiting-room. At least, there was -none for the boys; Sam found an ancient crust of bread along the track -and made the most of it. At a little after eight they parted, agreeing -to meet uptown at noon so that should one or the other have earned any -money they might eat. Wayne’s ill luck stayed with him and at a little -after twelve he sought the corner near the post office and found June -already on hand. June had the enormous sum of twenty cents, earned by -carrying a drummer’s sample cases from store to store for a period of -well over an hour, and it took the boys something less than two minutes -to find a lunch-room and climb to a couple of stools. Wayne was for -conserving half their fortune, but when June’s eyes rolled covetously -at the good things displayed, and June earnestly assured him of his -ability to earn more money that afternoon, Wayne recklessly consented -to the spending of the whole amount. The fact that he was every bit as -hungry as June had a good deal to do with his change of mind. - -That lunch tasted awfully good. Also, as June remarked wistfully, it -tasted “moreish.” But their money was exhausted and they parted again -at the lunch-room door and went their separate ways. How many flights -of stairs he climbed that afternoon, how many doors he opened, how many -blocks of hard pavement he trod, Wayne didn’t know, but even Sam showed -evidences of exhaustion when, at twilight, downhearted and despairing, -boy and dog returned to the shed by the railroad track. - -“I reckon,” Wayne confided, “you and I are hoodooed, Sam. Reckon -there isn’t anything for us to do but just slink back home the best -way we can, old chap.” And Sam, trotting along beside him, raised -understanding eyes and wagged the stump of his tail sympathetically. - -June was downcast and woe-begone and self-accusing. Not a cent had -he accumulated since noon. Luck had fairly deserted him. Every offer -of services had been refused and a big, red-faced man had chased him -out of a butcher shop with upraised cleaver when June had tried to -negotiate for “a little ol’ piece o’ meat.” Hunger again faced them, -and, to make matters worse, they were homeless. Wayne slumped down -on the wheelbarrow and studied the situation from all angles, while -June kept a sharp and nervous watch for that troublesome policeman. At -length Wayne arose with a look of settled determination on his face. - -“Come on,” he said. “We’ve got to eat, June. If we don’t we can’t look -for work. Mr. Connor wants Sam and----” - -June let out a wail. “You ain’ goin’ to sell Sam, Mas’ Wayne! Please -don’ you do that! Why, I ain’ hungry scarcely at all yet! Why, I don’ -reckon you got any _right_----” - -“I’m not going to sell him,” interrupted Wayne impatiently, even -indignantly. “I’m going to ask Mr. Connor to take him and let us have -our meals until we can pay him and get Sam back. That’s fair, isn’t it? -Sam won’t mind--much. He’ll be warm and have plenty to eat and--and -all.” - -“He ain’ goin’ to be happy,” replied June, shaking his head sorrowfully, -“but I reckon he won’ mind a awful lot if you kind of explains to him -jus’ how it is, Mas’ Wayne. But you reckon Mister Denny goin’ to do it?” - -“I mean to ask him, anyway,” answered Wayne stoutly. “He can’t do any -more than refuse. So come along before the place fills up.” - -Fortunately they found the lunch-wagon empty save for the presence of -Mr. Connor himself and one tattered individual consuming coffee and -doughnuts at a far end of the counter. Denny was reading the evening -paper under a light beside the glistening, sizzing coffee urn. “Hello, -boys,” he greeted cordially. “And how’s the world using you these days? -You wasn’t in this morning, was you?” - -“No, sir,” answered Wayne. “I--could I speak to you a minute, Mr. -Connor?” - -“Sure.” Denny laid the paper down and followed Wayne out of earshot of -the lone patron. “What is it, my boy?” - -In a low voice Wayne confided their predicament and made his proposal. -Denny was sympathetic, and interjected, “I want to know!”, “Think of -that now!”, and similar remarks during the narrative, and when Wayne -had finished turned instantly and slid two cups and saucers toward the -coffee urn. - -“Here,” he exclaimed, “you fellers put this down before you do any more -jabbering. There’s the sugar forninst you, Junius. What’ll you have to -eat, now? Beef stew, corned beef hash, ham, eggs----” He ran an eye -down the placard on the wall. “What’ll it be, boys?” - -“Then you don’t mind doing it?” asked Wayne. “I’ll be awfully much -obliged to you, Mr. Connor. I don’t know just when I can pay you back, -but it won’t be very long, I reckon, and----” - -“Ah, go on!” replied Denny gruffly. “Eat what you want. I don’t want -your dog, kid!” - -But Wayne was firm, even with the fragrant odour of that coffee in his -nostrils, while June, already on a stool, was rolling longing eyes at -the pies and cakes standing in rows on the shelves. “If you won’t take -Sam for--for security,” said Wayne earnestly, “I won’t do it, sir. He -won’t be any trouble and he doesn’t eat very much. I reckon you’d have -to keep him tied up for a couple of days, because he might try to get -away and follow me, but he’d soon get used to you, sir.” - -Denny frowned thoughtfully from Wayne to Sam. “That’s all right,” he -said at last, “only suppose I get fond of him, eh? I got an awful weak -heart for dogs, kid. Look here, I tell you what. Sam can be security, -do you see, and you can keep him just the same. Then if you don’t pay -up, do you see, I’ll take him. Now what’s it going to be? That corned -beef hash is pretty good tonight, and if you put a couple of eggs on -it----” - -“That’s silly,” interrupted Wayne. “Suppose we left town?” - -“Oh, I’d have to risk that. You wouldn’t, though. Sure, I know you’re a -straight lad.” - -Wayne shook his head, sighed, and pushed the untasted coffee away. -“Come on, June,” he said resolutely. “We’ve got to be travelling.” - -“Huh?” queried June dismayedly. “Ain’ we goin’ to eat nothin’?” - -“Not here. Mr. Connor doesn’t like our plan, June.” - -“Don’ like it? How come he don’ like it? Look here, Mister Denny, that -Sam dog’s the smartest, knowin’est dog as is, yes, sir! You can’ make -no mistake if you takes him, sir. He’s got the cutest tricks----” - -“I guess I’ve got to take him,” said Denny ruefully. “But I don’t see -why you ain’t satisfied if I am. Oh, all right. Get on a stool there -and feed your face, kid. You win. What about that hash now?” - -Half an hour later, almost painfully replete with food and coffee, -the boys left the Golden Star Lunch. Sam, tied with a cord behind the -counter, sent wails of anguish after them, and Wayne hurried his steps -and finally broke into a run. Only when a corner of a building along -the track had shut off the lugubrious sounds did Wayne slow down again. -After that they traversed a block in silence. Then it was June who -spoke. - -“Dogs is awful human folks, ain’ they?” he asked subduedly. - -Wayne nodded but didn’t answer. Presently, though, he broke out -defiantly with: “We’ve got to redeem him, June! He isn’t going to be -happy there, Sam isn’t. He--he’s going to be mighty lonesome.” Then: -“So am I,” he added gruffly. - -“Yes, sir, I reckon he’s goin’ to be powerful mis’able at firs’,” -agreed June. “We jus’ got to get to work an’ get him back, ain’t we, -Mas’ Wayne?” - -“We surely have,” agreed Wayne decidedly. “And I’m going to find a job -tomorrow or--or bust!” - -They stayed in the waiting-room, the object of deep suspicion on the -part of the station policeman, who, fortunately, was not the officer -who had ordered them away from the little shed, until the eleven-twelve -express had pulled out. Then, when the baggage-man went through and -put out most of the lights and the ticket seller closed and locked the -door of his office and started for home, they exchanged the warmth of -the waiting-room for the chill of outdoors and sleepily sought a place -to spend the rest of the night. It wasn’t difficult. An empty box car -on a sidetrack invited them with a half-opened door and they clambered -in, closed the door behind them, and settled in a corner, drawing -the horse blanket which June had carried around with him all evening -over their tired bodies. They lay awake for a good while, talking, -planning, wondering about Sam. At intervals an engine would roll past -with clanking wheels, sometimes throwing red gleams from the open door -of its fire box through the cracks of the box car. Later an express -thundered by, shaking the earth. But that was after they had fallen -asleep, and the roar only half awakened Wayne and disturbed June not a -particle. - -They awoke late the next morning, stiff-limbed but rested, and dropped -from the car and went back to the station for a wash-up. Then came hot -coffee and fried eggs and rolls at the lunch-wagon, but no reunion with -Sam, for Denny explained that he had taken Sam home with him and that -he was at that moment tied to a leg of the kitchen table. - -“He howled a good deal during the night,” said Denny philosophically, -“but I guess he didn’t keep anyone awake. He seemed a bit easier in his -mind this morning, though, and the missis gave him a good breakfast and -when I left he was licking the baby’s face. I guess he’s going to be -all right in a day or two, but if the kid gets fond of him and I get -fond of him----” Denny shook his head. “You haven’t changed your mind -about selling him, have you?” - -Wayne said no, and the proprietor of the lunch-wagon sighed. “Well, I -was only thinking maybe that would make it a lot easier for all hands. -But I won’t be urging you, kid. He’s a nice little dog and he sure is -fond of you. Any time you want to see him you go around to the house -and tell the missis who you are, see? No. 28 Grove Street’s the place. -Ring the second bell. Well, so long, fellers. Good luck!” - -Perhaps it was Denny’s wish that influenced Fortune that day, for when -the two met at noon June proudly displayed two quarters and Wayne was -happy over the possibility of securing work in a livery stable. “He -said I was to come back in the morning,” explained Wayne as they sought -the little lunch-room that they had patronised the previous day. “I -reckon he means to take me, June. Wouldn’t that be great?” - -“It surely would, Mas’ Wayne. What-all he want you to do?” - -“Drive a carriage, one of the closed carriages that take passengers -from the station. That’s something I can do, June, drive!” - -“Yes, sir, you surely can drive. But that ain’ scarcely fit work for a -gen’leman like you is, Mas’ Wayne.” - -“I reckon what you do doesn’t matter much, June,” replied Wayne. “I -reckon you can be a gentleman and drive a carriage, too. Anyway, I’d -rather be earning some money. Just being a gentleman doesn’t get you -anything as far as I can see.” - -June shook his head at that but didn’t dispute it. He had something -on his mind, and as soon as they were seated at the lunch-counter he -broached it. “We got to fin’ a place to live, ain’ we, Mas’ Wayne?” -he began. Wayne agreed, and June went on. “Yes, sir. Then let me tell -you.” What he told amounted to this. His search for the illusive -two-bit piece had taken him farther afield than usual and he had -plodded to the outskirts of the town where there was a stamping works -and a dyehouse and a few other small factories. His journey had brought -him no recompense in money but he had discovered their future domicile. -It was, he explained, an old street car which had at some time been -pulled out into a meadow beyond the factories. “I reckon it was a horse -car, like they used to have in Sleepersville, Mas’ Wayne, before the -trolleys done come. Mos’ of the windows is knocked out, but we could -easy board ’em up. An’ one of the doors don’ shut tight. But it’s got -a long seat on both its sides an’ we could sleep fine on them seats. -An’ there’s a little old stove at one end that someone done left there, -an’ a stovepipe astickin’ out through the roof. I ask a man at the tin -factory an’ he say no one ain’ live in it for a long time. An’ there’s -a branch close by it, too; mighty nice tastin’ water, Mas’ Wayne; an’ -some trees an’ no one to ask you no questions, an’ everythin’!” - -“That sounds great, June,” said Wayne eagerly. “How far is it?” - -“Must be a good two miles, I reckon. You go down this away and you bear -over yonder-like an’ you follow the railroad right straight till you -come to it.” - -“It must be near where we got put off the train the other night,” said -Wayne. - -“No, sir, ’tain’, it’s in the other direction; other side of town.” - -“Oh, that’s right. Well, now look here, June. We’ve got thirty cents -left and that’s enough to keep us going until tomorrow, and I’m pretty -sure to get that job in the morning. Why don’t we go out there now and -have a look at the place?” - -“Yes, sir, that’s what I was thinkin’. We could find some boards, -maybe, an’ fix up them windows, an’ get some wood for a fire----” - -“We’d better take that blanket out, though, in case we decided to stay -there, June. There wouldn’t be any use coming back to town, would -there?” - -June looked dubious. “How about some supper?” he asked. - -“I forgot that. But, look here, if there’s a stove there----” - -“Yes, sir! Get us some coffee an’ bread----” - -“And cook our own supper!” concluded Wayne triumphantly. - -“Ain’ that fine? You take this yere money, Mas’ Wayne, an’ buy them -things, an’ I’ll run back an’ fetch that blanket.” June grinned from -ear to ear, displaying a wealth of glistening white teeth. - -“You’re sure no one owns that car, though, June? We don’t want to get -settled down there and then be put out the way they put us out of the -little shed.” - -“Huh, ain’ no police ever gets aroun’ there, I reckon,” answered June. -“Man said it didn’ belong to no one, too.” - -“All right. You get the blanket and I’ll buy what I can and meet you at -the post office in fifteen minutes or so.” - -June disappeared, and Wayne paid the two cheques and set out to find a -grocery store. When he had completed his purchasing just one lonesome -nickel remained in his pocket, but he had acquired a modest amount of -cheap coffee, five cents’ worth of butter, a loaf of bread, a can of -condensed milk and some sugar. Five minutes later they were footing it -down the main street of Medfield, Wayne bearing the provisions and -June the horse blanket which was a load in itself. It seemed that June -had not underestimated the distance a particle, nor the difficulties -of travel, for after they had traversed the poorer part of town their -road stopped abruptly and they were forced to take to the railroad -track and, since trains were coming and going frequently, make their -way along by the little path on the side of the embankment. Coal -yards, lumber yards, a foundry, vacant lots heaped with cinders and -rubbish, and, at last, the open country, dotted here and there with -small factories which, possibly because of lower land values, had been -set up on the outskirts of town. June explained that he had found his -way there in the morning by the road, but that the road was “way over -yonder an’ a heap longer.” Presently he pointed out the stamping works, -or tin factory, as he called it, and then directed Wayne’s gaze further -and to the right. - -“See that bunch of trees, Mas’ Wayne? See somethin’ jus’ other side of -’em? That’s it, sir!” - -“Oh! But it’s a long ways from town, June.” - -“It’s a right smart walk, yes, sir, but the rent’s mighty cheap!” And -June chuckled as he led the way down the embankment, through a fence -and into a boggy meadow. Further away a sort of road wound in the -direction of the stamping works, and toward this June proceeded. The -road scarcely deserved the name, but it was drier than the meadow. -It appeared to have been constructed of a mixture of broken bricks, -ashes, and tin cuttings and the latter glowed in the afternoon sunlight -like bits of gold. They left the road at the stamping works, through -whose open windows came the hum and clash of machinery, skirted a huge -pile of waste tin, and went on across the field, choosing their way -cautiously since every low spot held water. By now the abandoned horse -car stood before them in all its glory of weather-faded yellow paint, -broken windows, rusted roof, and sagging platforms. At one end some -two feet of stovepipe protruded at a rakish angle from the roof. Wayne -looked, saw, and was dubious. But when June asked proudly, “What you -think of her, Mas’ Wayne?” he only said, “Fine, June!” - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -THE NEW HOME - - -And when, having slid back the crazy door at the nearer end of the car, -they entered it and seated themselves on the benches, it didn’t look -nearly so unpromising. There was a good, stout floor underfoot and a -reasonably tight roof overhead. Wayne began to see possibilities. - -The car was only about twelve feet long and of the usual width. At some -time a matched-board partition had divided it into two compartments, -but this had nearly all disappeared. Every pane of glass, and there -had been eighteen in all, counting those in the doors, were either -smashed or totally missing. Over one window at each end and over three -of the six windows at each side boards had been nailed. The remains -of a flimsy curtain hung over the glass of the forward door. From the -roof two lamp fixtures still depended, but the lamps were gone. The -floor was littered with trash, including newspaper and tin cans and -cracker boxes and scraps of dried bread, indicating that the place had -been used for picnic purposes. In a corner at the farther end a small -“air-tight” stove was set on a board placed on the seat. It was badly -rusted, the upper door hung by one hinge, the mica was broken out, and -the interior was filled with ashes and charred embers. Between stove -and ceiling there was no pipe. Wayne tried the door at that end, but it -was jammed so tightly that he couldn’t budge it. - -An inspection of the outside followed. The trucks had been discarded -and the body of the car rested on four six-inch sills, two running -lengthwise and two across. An attempt had apparently been made to set -fire to the car, for at one side the woodwork was scorched and the end -of a sill burned away for nearly a foot. The inscription, “Medfield -Street Railway Co.,” in faded brown letters against the faded yellow -body, was still legible, as was the figure 6, preceding and following -it. - -“I’d like to know what number 1 looks like,” said Wayne, “if this is -number 6!” - -Everything of value in the way of metal had been removed, even to the -brass hand rails and sill plates. The only glass that had escaped -destruction consisted of a number of long and narrow panes in the roof, -of which less than half remained intact. As Wayne discovered later, -these were set in hinged frames that could be opened for ventilating -purposes. On the front platform--they designated it the front merely -because it seemed natural to call one front and one back, and that was -the one outside the jammed door--a dozen sticks of wood suggested the -location of the fuel pile at some time. Ashes had been disposed of by -merely emptying them over the front dash. June discovered the missing -stovepipe lying a few yards away, but it was so rusted that it came to -pieces when he tried to lift it from the ground. Other untidy evidences -of former occupation and more recent vandalism lay around: an iron -skillet with the handle broken off, a bent and twisted toaster, many -empty cans, a worn and sodden rope doormat, a length of rotted clothes -line of which one end was tied to a ten-foot pole set some six yards -away. - -“I wonder,” mused Wayne, “who lived here. And why they went away. And -I wonder most of all, June, how they got this thing out here in the -middle of this marsh.” - -But June was ready with a quite feasible explanation, which was that -the car had been loaded onto a truck and hauled there. “Reckon in the -summer this yere field is all dried up, Mas’ Wayne.” - -As it was getting on toward the middle of the afternoon by now it -behooved them to set about preparing the domicile for occupation. They -discarded their coats and set to work and in an hour had accomplished -marvels. The floor was cleared of rubbish, Wayne requiring June to -carry it well away from the vicinity of the car before disposing of it, -dust was obliterated with the fragment of curtain, some loose boards -were nailed back into place over the windows--the broken skillet served -as a hammer--the stove door was rehung with a bent nail, ashes were -removed, and the refractory rear door was coaxed into obedience by -digging away the dirt beneath it with a pocket knife. - -After that the principal demands were stovepipe and covering for the -broken windows. They thought later of many other things that were -sorely needed, but just now those wants took precedence. It was out -of the question to find stovepipe nearer than town, unless, as June -suggested, some rubbish dump supplied it, and so they tackled the -matter of covering the windows. For that they needed boards, or some -other material, and nails. And a hammer would have helped a lot, -although the skillet did fairly well in the emergency. There was enough -of the partition left to supply boards for one window, but they had no -nails, and a search through the ash pile failed to provide more than -four bent and rusted ones. So it was decided that June should walk -back to the stamping works and see if he could find, beg, or borrow -some. Also, he was to be on the lookout for anything that might be used -in making the new home weather tight. In the meanwhile Wayne was to -“projeck ’roun’,” as June phrased it, and collect anything useful that -could be found. - -June went off, whistling blithely, and Wayne began his search. The new -abode stood about two hundred yards from the railroad embankment, at -this point a good eight feet above the meadow, and possibly half again -as far from the nearest building which was the stamping works. Beyond -the latter were a number of other factories, puffing steam or smoke -into the afternoon sunlight, and beyond these began the town. Standing -on the front porch, which was the term ultimately applied to the rear -platform, the view to the left ended at the railroad embankment, but -to the right Wayne could see for nearly a mile. A few scattered houses -indicated the dirt road in that direction and beyond the houses was -some tilled land, and, finally, a fringe of trees. In front lay the -edge of the town, with the town itself, overhung by a haze of smoke, -a good mile beyond. On the fourth side, visible when Wayne stepped -off the “porch” to the soggy ground, the meadow continued for another -hundred yards to a rail fence. Beyond the fence was a ploughed field -which sloped off and up to meet the blue March sky. Between car and -railroad a group of trees attracted Wayne’s attention, and he set out -for it across the _squishy_ meadow. Half-way to it he caught sight of -water and recalled June’s mention of a “branch.” It proved to be a -tiny brook that, emerging from a culvert under the tracks, wandered -as far as the tiny grove and then curved off to the rail fence and -followed it across the fields in the direction of the road. The water -was clear and cold and tasted very good to the boy. Just now the brook -was overflowing its bed in places, but the little knoll on which the -cluster of trees grew was high and dry underfoot. - -The brook offered treasure-trove in the shape of a number of short -planks and pieces of boxes rudely nailed together, doubtless -representing the efforts of some boy to construct a raft. Wayne doubted -its seaworthiness after he had experimentally pushed it back into the -water and tried his weight on it. He floated it along to the nearest -point to the car, getting his feet thoroughly wet in the process, and -then, not without much panting and frequent rests, dragged it the -balance of the way. After that he ranged the field in all directions, -returning several times with his loads of wood for fuel or window -repairs. He had quite a respectable pile on the front platform by the -time June returned. - -The darkey brought a whole pocketful of nails and a number of sheets -of tin of various sizes which he had salvaged from the waste heap. -Few were larger than fifteen or sixteen inches in any direction, but -together they would turn the wind and rain at one window at least. -The nails had been given him by a man in the office. He had, he said, -requested a hammer, too, but the man’s generosity had balked there. -They set to work with the materials at hand and inside of the next hour -accounted for four windows and part of a fifth, leaving six still open -to the winds of Heaven. They made a systematic search for more boards, -but failed to find any. Foiled, they entered their new home and sat -down for a brief rest. - -The sight of the groceries presented a new quandary to Wayne. “Look -here, June,” he exclaimed. “We’ve got coffee and milk and sugar, and we -know where there’s water, but we haven’t anything to boil it in!” - -“My goodness!” said June. “Ain’ that a fac’? What we-all goin’ to do, -Mas’ Wayne?” - -Wayne shook his head helplessly. “I don’t know,” he answered. “I reckon -that skillet wouldn’t do, would it?” - -It wouldn’t, as an examination proved, for when the handle had broken -off it had taken a generous piece of the skillet with it. June studied -the situation hard, cupping his chin in his hands and gazing at the -scuffed toes of his shoes. “I reckon,” he said finally, “we jus’ got -to _eat_ that coffee. ’Sides,” he continued, “how we goin’ to boil it, -anyway, without no fire?” - -“We could build a fire outside,” answered Wayne. “For that matter, -we could build one in the stove. I reckon the smoke wouldn’t bother -us much seeing half our windows are open! But we’ve got to have a -coffee-pot or a pan or something. We surely were chumps, June,” he -ended sadly. - -“How come we didn’ think of that, Mas’ Wayne?” - -“There’s something else we didn’t think of,” replied the other. “We -didn’t think of anything to drink it out of, either!” - -“I ain’ botherin’ so much about that,” said June. “Jus’ you cook me -that coffee an’ see! But we surely has got to have somethin’ to----” -He stopped abruptly. “How much money we got, Mas’ Wayne?” he asked -eagerly. - -“Five cents. You can’t get a coffee-pot for five cents, I reckon.” - -“Give me he,” said June, jumping up. “I’ll go on back yonder an’ ask -that man in the tin factory to sell me a five-cent kettle or somethin’, -Mas’ Wayne. He’s a nice man an’ I reckon when I tell him we can’ get no -supper without he sells it to us he goin’ do it. Jus’ you wait, Mas’ -Wayne.” - -“All right,” laughed Wayne. “And ask him to throw in two tin cups and a -candle and a blanket or two and----” - -“No, sir, I ain’ goin’ to ask no imposs’bilities,” replied June, -showing his teeth in a broad grin, “but I certainly am goin’ to projeck -mightily aroun’ that tin pile. I reckon there’s a heap more pieces like -I done fetched if I can fin’ ’em.” - -“Maybe I’d better go along,” said Wayne, giving June the nickel. - -“No, sir, you stay right here an’ rest yourself, Mas’ Wayne. I can -’tend to that man without no help. Jus’ you get them victuals ready---- -What’s the matter, Mas’ Wayne?” - -“Oh, nothing,” groaned Wayne, setting down the paper bag he had untied. -“Only I forgot to ask them to grind the coffee, June!” - -“Lawsy-y-y!” - -They gazed dejectedly at each other for a moment. Then June chuckled. -“I reckon I’ll jus’ have to ask that Mister Man to throw in a coffee -grinder, too!” he said. “Ain’ there no way to make coffee out of that, -Mas’ Wayne?” - -“There must be,” was the answer. “If we can’t do it any other way, -we’ll grind it with our teeth! You run along and see what you can find, -June, and I’ll try to think up a way of grinding the coffee.” - -So June departed again and Wayne faced his problem, and when, some -twenty minutes later, the darkey returned in triumph with a tin -coffee-pot, a tin dish, a tin spoon, and several more sheets of the -metal dug from the waste heap enough coffee for the evening meal was -ready and Wayne was grinding the rest of their supply between two -flat stones! “There’s more than one way to grind coffee,” he laughed, -as June paused in the doorway to regard the proceeding in pardonable -surprise. “I just remembered the way the Indians used to grind their -corn. Or was it the Egyptians? Someone, anyhow. I had a dickens of a -time finding these stones, though. There, that’s the last. It isn’t -very fine, but I guess it will do well enough.” - -“Don’ it smell jus’ gran’?” asked June, sniffing the fragrance. “An’ -look what I fetched, please, Mas’ Wayne. Look yere! Ain’ that a pretty -fine coffee-pot? An’ ain’ that a pretty fine little dish? An’ look yere -at the spoon! All them for a nickel, Mas’ Wayne! That man certainly was -good to me, yes, sir! I done tell him I ain’ got but a nickel an’ he -say: ‘Nickel’s enough, nigger. What-all you wantin’?’ He say these yere -things is ‘second,’ whatever he mean, but I reckon they goin’ to suit -us all righty, ain’ they?” - -“They’re fine, June! You surely know how to get your money’s worth. But -where are the blankets I told you to fetch?” - -“He goin’ to send them over in the mornin’,” replied June gravely. -“Didn’ have none good enough, he say. How soon we goin’ to cook that -coffee, Mas’ Wayne?” - -“Not for a long time yet,” said Wayne resolutely. “We aren’t going to -have any supper at all until all these windows are fixed, June. It’s -getting cold in here already and we’ll just naturally freeze tonight if -we don’t get something over them. Come on and get to work. Where’s the -tin?” - -It was almost twilight when they actually finished the undertaking. It -is doubtful if they would have finished at all that evening if June -hadn’t discovered a piece of tar paper nearly three yards long and -a yard wide near the railroad embankment. It was torn and held some -holes, but it was far better than nothing and it covered three windows, -with the aid of a few pieces of wood found in the same locality. Those -windows presented a strange appearance, but nobody cared about the -looks of them. At least, when the door was closed and the stove was -going, the car was warm enough for comfort even if the smoke did bring -tears to their eyes. Until the coffee was boiled they kept the fire -up, but after that they were very glad to let it go out. They had the -equivalent of two cups of coffee apiece and finished most of the bread -and butter. They were very hungry and it was so much easier to satisfy -present appetites than to give thought to the morrow. The coffee was -somewhat muddy, but, as June said ecstatically, “it certainly did taste -scrumptuous!” - -After supper they sat huddled in a corner of the seat opposite the -dying fire and talked. For some reason their thoughts tonight dwelt -largely with Sleepersville, and Wayne wondered this and June that, and -they decided that at the very first opportunity Wayne was to write back -there and let his stepfather and June’s mother know that they were -alive and well. And they wondered about Sam, too, and how he would -like this new home. And presently they stretched themselves out on -the seat, sharing the horse blanket as best they could, and slumbered -soundly. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -THE LUCK CHANGES - - -The next day luck turned. Wayne went to work for Callahan’s Livery -Stable, and June, happening into the Union Hotel with a drummer’s -sample cases, witnessed the discharge of a bell boy, applied for the -position, got it, was thrust into a dark-blue uniform and, half an hour -later, was climbing stairs and answering calls as though he had done -nothing else all his life. The wage was only three dollars a week, and -out of that he was required to deposit ten dollars as security for the -uniform, which meant that for three weeks he would get nothing from -his employer. Ordinarily he would have had to deposit that ten dollars -before starting to work, but the fact that his services were badly -needed at the moment and the fact that he neither had ten dollars nor -could get it, caused the proprietor to waive the rule. But June didn’t -bother about that ten dollars, for he knew that it was tips and not -wages that counted in his job, and he believed in his ability to get -the tips. He didn’t return to the new home very rich that night, to be -sure, for he hadn’t yet learned the ropes and his chances had been few, -but it didn’t take him long to put his new position on a paying basis. -At the end of three days everyone in the hotel knew June and liked -him. He was always willing, always ready, and always cheerful. And he -was always polite, a fact which made him a favourite with the guests, -accustomed as they were to the half-sullen services of the other boys. -Dimes and even quarters dropped into June’s pocket at a rate that -astonished him. When, at the end of his second week of service, he -counted up his wealth and discovered that it totalled the stupendous -sum of nine dollars and eighty cents he rolled his eyes and confided to -Wayne that he “didn’ know there was so much money in the whole world!” -The main drawback to June’s work was that his period of duty began at -six o’clock in the morning and lasted until four in the afternoon, -necessitating a very early rising hour in the car. Wayne’s own duties -didn’t begin until eight, and in consequence he had two hours on his -hands that he didn’t know what to do with. Breakfast was always over by -half-past five and a minute or two later June was streaking across the -field to the railroad track. At about twenty-five minutes to six there -was a milk train due and June had become an adept at swinging himself -to a platform as it slowed down at the yard entrance. Just at first -his presence, when discovered, was resented, but presently the train -hands good-naturedly failed to see him and he rode into town huddled up -on a car step. When, as infrequently happened, the train was late June -was put to it to reach the hotel on time, but he always did it by hook -or by crook even if he had to run most of the way over the uneven ties. - -Wayne’s job brought him seventy-five cents a day--when he worked. He -didn’t always work, for it was only when one of the regular men was -taken away to a drive at a funeral or a wedding that his services were -required. But he had to report every morning, in any case, and it was -rather surprising how many folks were married or buried in Medfield! -He liked driving a carriage well enough, but waiting for fares at the -station in all sorts of weather wasn’t pleasant. It was a sort of -lazy job, too. On the whole, he was far from satisfied with it and -continually kept his eyes open for something better. It was rather a -blow to his pride to have June bring home four or five dollars each -week while he almost never earned more than three. Still, he was -thankful for what he got, for it enabled them to live very comfortably -in their novel home. - -One of the first things Wayne did was to recover Sam. Denny Connor -parted with the dog reluctantly, but consoled himself with the fact -that as Sam had been with him only four days and hadn’t got used to the -change he wouldn’t miss him as much as he might have. - -“You see,” he confided, “it ain’t as if you slept a lot better for -having a dog howl all night in the kitchen!” - -Sam took to the new home at once. He approved of it enthusiastically. -Perhaps the freedom of the country appealed to him after the -confinement of town. At all events, he had a perfectly delirious -time the first hour, running around the field, barking at everyone -who passed along the railroad track and searching for rats under the -car. His big adventure came later, though, when, after disappearing -frenziedly and at full speed into the woods he returned a quarter of -an hour after much chastened and with his muzzle bleeding profusely -from several deep scratches. What his adversary had been they never -knew. June offered the theory that Sam had been in mortal combat with -a catamount. I don’t think June knew just what a catamount was, but -he liked the word. Wayne said he guessed it was a “cat” without the -“mount.” In any event, Sam displayed a strong dislike of the woods for -weeks afterward. Wayne tried taking him to work with him at first, -but Mr. Callahan objected to having the dog in the carriage and made -Wayne tie him in an empty stall in the stable. That didn’t please Sam a -mite and he said so very loudly and continuously, so heartily, in fact, -that the edict went forth that “that fool dog” was not to be brought -there again. After that Wayne shut him up in the car when he left -at half-past seven and was pursued for a quarter of a mile by Sam’s -lamentations. Eventually the dog learned that he was not to follow, -that his duty was to remain behind and guard the domicile, and he -became reconciled. - -“Carhurst,” as Wayne dubbed the new home, was slowly but steadily -rehabilitated. Now that there was money for the purpose the boys set -out to turn the abandoned horse car into a real place of residence. -Every day witnessed some improvement. The missing stovepipe was early -replaced with two sections purchased at a junk dealer’s emporium and -with a five-cent can of blacking June made stove and pipe shine like -a new beaver hat. Red builder’s paper superseded the boards across -the window frames, giving the car quite a cheerful appearance from -without even if it added little to the lighting within. Sooner or -later they meant to reglaze two windows on each side, and to that end -June brought back a fine big lump of putty one afternoon which he had -wheedled out of a painter at work in the hotel. After that, as Wayne -complacently remarked, all they needed were points, a putty knife, and -some glass! They put shelves up for their groceries, cooking utensils, -and tableware, all largely augmented with returning prosperity, set a -box on the more shaded platform to serve as an ice-chest, invested in -four blankets and, in short, surrounded themselves with all sorts of -luxuries! - -June solved the fuel problem very simply. Wood soon became scarce and -they were forced to go far afield to find enough to cook meals with, -while having a fire for the mere purpose of keeping warm on some -of those raw nights of early spring was an extravagance not to be -considered. Not, that is to say, until June had his brilliant idea. -He disappeared one afternoon with the basket that they used to bring -provisions home in and returned half an hour later bearing it on his -head and filled to the brim with coal. The railroad tracks were black -with it, he reported, and all they had to do was gather it up. Wayne -found that a slight exaggeration, but it wasn’t at all a difficult -matter to fill a basket without going out of sight of home. After that, -when the weather was cold or rainy, they kept a fire going all day and -night in the tiny stove, which, in spite of some infirmities, served -them faithfully and cheerfully and consumed little fuel. - -They had a few leaks to contend with when the rain drove against the -car, leaks that simply refused to be located when the weather was dry -and Wayne, armed with pieces of tin, and tacks, and a hammer went -searching for them. But even more expensive houses leak, and it was a -simple enough matter to move away from the trickles. To be sure, it -wasn’t so pleasant when they awoke one very stormy night toward the -first of April to find that the trough-shaped seat upon which they were -reposing had turned itself into a reservoir for the collection of the -rain driving in at a corner of the car. They had to open the draughts -of the little stove and dry their blankets before they could go to -sleep again on the opposite seat. And they had difficulties with the -windows, too, occasionally, for the paper had a mean habit of breaking -loose under the combined assaults of wind and rain. At such times the -old horse blanket, now discarded as an article of bedding, was used as -a temporary shutter. Wayne threatened to varnish or shellac the paper -so that it would turn the rain, but he never carried out the threat. - -June was the cook and a very good one. He had a positive talent for -coffee and could really do wonders with a frying pan. They never -attempted ambitious feats of cookery, but they lived well, if simply, -and had all they wanted. Only breakfast and supper, the latter a rather -hearty meal, were eaten at “Carhurst.” The midday meal was taken in the -town. Wayne went to the Golden Star Lunch when he had opportunity, at -other times patronising the counter in the station. June skirmished his -lunches in the hotel kitchen, and, since everyone there from the chef -to the scullery maid liked him, fared well. Sam ate twice a day to the -boys’ knowledge and, it was suspected, levied toll at noon hour on the -employees of the stamping works. If there hadn’t been so many chipmunks -and squirrels and, possibly, worthier game to chase he would have waxed -fat and lazy at this period of his history. - -They had been living at “Carhurst” something over three weeks when, -quite unexpectedly, almost overnight, spring arrived. Of course, if -they were to believe the almanac, spring had really been there some -time, but they would never have suspected it. Some days there had been -a mildness in the air that had seemed to presage the lady’s appearance, -but it wasn’t until they awoke that April morning to the knowledge -that the fire in the stove, as low as it was, was “super’ogatory”--the -word is June’s, and one he was extremely fond of--and stuck their -heads outdoors to find out why, that it seemed to them she had really -arrived. It was like May rather than April. Although it was still only -five o’clock in the morning, there was an unaccustomed warmth in the -air and the east was rosy with the coming sun. It was after June had -scudded off and Wayne had washed the few breakfast dishes and hung the -dishcloth--yes, they had even attained to the luxury of a dishcloth by -then!--over the platform rail and had seated himself on the step with -Sam in his arms that the desire that affects almost all of us on the -first warm morning of spring came to him. He wanted to grow something! - -At first glance the prospect of growing anything at “Carhurst” was not -encouraging. The meadow was still soft and sodden with the spring rains -and here and there little pools of water showed between the hummocks of -turf. But when one becomes really possessed with the longing to have -a garden it takes a great deal to discourage one. Wayne set Sam down -and walked around the car and frowned intently over the problem. After -all, he didn’t need a very big patch for his garden, and by filling in -a few low places along the sunny side of the car and digging out the -turf--turning it under would be better, but it entailed more labour -than he felt capable of that lazy-feeling morning--he could have a -patch about four yards long by a yard wide, quite big enough for his -needs. He had no idea of raising such useful things as vegetables. His -soul sighed for foliage and flowers. He wondered, though, what kinds -of flowers grew up here in the North. He would, he decided, have to -consult someone as to that. Probably the man he bought his seeds of -would tell him. Anyhow, at the back of the bed, where it would shade -the car in hot weather, he would have something tall. And in front he -would grow pretty things with lots of colour. He talked it over all -the while with Sam, and Sam indicated quite plainly that he considered -it a perfectly glorious idea, following Wayne around and around with -his tail never for an instant still. Finally, Wayne drew forth the -little leather bag in which he kept his money and viewed the contents -doubtfully. Two dollars didn’t seem a great deal, but it would probably -do if only he could borrow a shovel and rake and not have to buy them. -All the way to town his mind dwelt on the project and he became so -absorbed that he sometimes forgot to keep on walking and came very near -to being late at the stable. - -It was June who solved the problem of shovel and rake by borrowing both -these necessary implements, as well as a hoe, at the stamping works. -June had many friends there by that time and there was no difficulty -at all. Wayne bought eight packages of flower seed--they were far -cheaper than he had dared hope--and one afternoon the boys began the -preparation of the garden. June was less enthusiastic than Wayne, but -he lent willing assistance. June advocated the growing of useful things -like corn and beans and “tomatuses,” but acknowledged that the ground -at their disposal was rather too small in area for much of a crop. -Wayne compromised by agreeing to set out some tomato plants since they -were, while not exactly flowers, attractive when in fruit. The job -was a good deal harder than they had expected, for that turf had been -growing there a long while and resented being displaced. Sam tried to -help, but his digging was merely spasmodic and seldom in the right -place. - -They spent four evenings getting the plot of ground cleared of grass -and graded up, and Wayne went to bed that fourth evening very tired but -cheered by the anticipation of planting his garden the next morning. -When morning came, however, a cold east wind was blowing across the -field, the sun was hidden and it seemed as though Miss Spring must -have drawn her flimsy garments about her and gone shivering back to -the Southland. Instead of planting his seeds, Wayne spent the time -between June’s departure and his own in sitting disgustedly in front -of the stove and trying to get warm. He had awakened some time in the -night to find himself uncomfortably chilly, his cover having fallen to -the floor, and he hadn’t so far succeeded in driving away the little -shivers that coursed up and down his back. He even sneezed once or -twice and sniffed a good deal, and was sorry when the time came for -him to go to work. He felt strangely disinclined for exertion and the -thought of the walk along the tracks to town quite dismayed him. But -he put his sweater on and started out and felt better by the time he -had been in the air awhile. The station platform was a rather exposed -place and sitting beside it on the front seat of a carriage was not a -very grateful occupation today. Wayne sneezed at intervals and blew -his nose between sneezes and by noon had reached the conclusion that -he had a cold. He wasn’t used to them and resented this one every time -he had to drag his handkerchief out. There were few arrivals today and -Wayne had little to do. When he took his horse back to the stable at -twelve-thirty for his feed he climbed into an old hack in a far corner -of the carriage-room and spent an uncomfortable three-quarters of an -hour there. He didn’t want any lunch, although he had a dim notion that -a cup of hot coffee would taste good. But that meant exertion, and -exertion was something he had no liking for today. - -He was back at the station for the two-twenty-four and picked up two -passengers for the hotel. He hoped that June would come out for the -luggage, but it was another boy who attended to the arrivals and Wayne -drove off again without seeing June. It got no warmer as the afternoon -progressed and Wayne was shivering most of the time. When the five -o’clock express was in and he had satisfied himself that there were no -fares for his conveyance he drove back to the stable as fast as the -horse would trot, unharnessed, and set out for home. That walk seemed -interminable and he thoroughly envied a gang of track workers who, -having eaten their supper, were sitting at ease around a stove in an -old box car which had been fitted up for living purposes. It was all -Wayne could do to drag a tired and aching and shivering body past that -stove! - -It was almost dusk when he finally crept down the embankment, squirmed -between the wires of the fence and, with the light from “Carhurst” -guiding him, floundered across the field. June had a fine fire going -in the stove and when Wayne had pushed the door half open and squeezed -through he simply slumped onto the seat and closed his eyes, immensely -thankful for warmth and shelter. June viewed him at first with -surprise and then with misgiving. - -“What’s the matter with you, Mas’ Wayne?” he asked. - -Wayne shook his head and muttered: “Just tired, June.” Then he had -a spasm of shivering and reached for a blanket. June observed him -anxiously for a moment. Then: - -“You got a chill, that’s what you got,” he said decisively. “You lay -yourself right down there an’ I’ll cover you up. My sakes!” - -The last exclamation was called forth by a sudden fit of sneezing that -left Wayne weak and with streaming eyes. - -“Lawsy-y-y, child, but you got a cold sure enough!” said June. -“What-all you been doin’, I like to know? You fix yourself for bed this -yere minute. My goodness, ’tain’ goin’ to do for you to go an’ get -sick, Mas’ Wayne!” - -June bustled around and brewed a pot of tea, a cup of which he insisted -on Wayne’s swallowing while it was still so hot that it almost -burned the latter’s mouth. After that June piled all the blankets on -the invalid and sternly told him to go to sleep. Rather to Wayne’s -surprise, he found that, as tired and played out as he was, sleep -wouldn’t come. He had aches in queer places and his head seemed due -to burst apart almost any moment. With half-closed eyes he lay and -watched June cook and eat his supper. Now and then he dozed for a -minute or two. The warmth from the stove, the hot tea he had drank, and -the piled-on blankets presently had their effect, and Wayne, muttering -remonstrances, tried to throw off some of the cover. But June was after -him on the instant. - -“Keep them blankets over you, Mas’ Wayne,” he commanded sternly. “You -got to sweat that cold out.” - -“I’m hot,” protested Wayne irritably. - -“I know you is, an’ you goin’ to be hot! Jus’ you leave them blankets -alone an’ go to sleep.” - -After a long while Wayne opened his eyes again. He had been sleeping -hours, he thought. He felt horribly uncomfortable and wondered what -time it was. Then his gaze fell on June hunched up near the stove with -Sam on his knees, and sighed. If June was still awake it couldn’t be -late, after all. Presently he fell again into a restless, troubled -sleep. In the corner June nodded, roused himself, looked at the -recumbent form on the seat, reached across and tucked a corner of a -gray blanket in and settled back in his corner. The firelight, finding -its way through cracks and crevices in the stove, made streaks and -splotches of light on the wall and ceiling, and one ray fell fairly on -June’s face. Perhaps it was that ray of light that did the business, -for presently his eyelids slowly closed---- - -Somewhere, afar off, a clock struck three. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -WAYNE LOSES A JOB AND FINDS ONE - - -Wayne had the grippe, although as neither he nor June had ever had -any experience of that complaint neither of them named it that. For -four days he was a pretty sick boy, with fever and aches and inflamed -eyes, and June was far more worried than he allowed the other to see. -June had a mortal fear of “pneumony,” and there was scarcely an hour -when he was at home when Wayne wasn’t required to assure him that his -chest wasn’t sore and that it didn’t hurt him to breathe. Two of the -four nights June got almost no sleep, only dozing for a few minutes at -a time as he sat huddled in the corner by the stove. The first day of -the illness he stayed at home, after walking to the nearest telephone -and explaining his absence from duty to the Union Hotel. After that he -took himself off each morning only because Wayne insisted, and was far -from happy until he had got back again. He invested in three different -varieties of patent medicine and administered them alternately in -heroic doses, and one of Wayne’s chief interests was the attempt to -decide which of the three was the nastiest. It was a difficult question -to decide, for the last one taken always seemed the worst. June also -attempted the concoction of some “yarb tea” such as he had so often -seen his mother make, but while it smelled the place up in a most -satisfactory manner, June was never quite certain that it contained -all it should have, and distrusted it accordingly. There was one day, -the second of the attack, when Wayne was in such agony with an aching -head and body that June was all for finding a doctor and haling him -posthaste to “Carhurst.” Wayne, however, refused to listen to the plan, -declaring that he would be all right tomorrow. “Besides,” he added -weakly, “you couldn’t get a doctor to come away out here, anyhow.” - -“Say I couldn’? Reckon if I tell a doctor man I got to have him and -show him the money right in my fist, he goin’ to come where I say!” -declared June sturdily. “Jus’ you let me fetch one, please, sir, Mas’ -Wayne.” - -But Wayne insisted on waiting a little longer, and June rubbed the -lame and achy spots and doubled the doses and, sure enough, after a -most wretched night, Wayne felt better in the morning. The nights were -always the worst, for, while he slept for an hour now and then during -the day, at night he was always wakeful. Illness always seems worse at -night, anyway, and there was no exception in Wayne’s case. Poor June -was driven nearly to his wits’ end some nights. Wayne was not, I fear, -a very patient patient. He had never been as sick before in all his -life and he resented it now forcibly and seemed inclined to hold June -in some way accountable for it. But that was only when he had really -begun to get better, and June was so thankful for his recovery that he -bore the other’s crankiness quite cheerfully. - -All things come to an end, and one day--it happened to be a Sunday--Wayne -got up for the first time and ate some real food. June had been trying -to entice him with soup and gruel and similar things which Wayne -unkindly termed “hog-wash” for two days with little success, but today -Wayne consumed a lamb chop and two slices of toast and a cup of tea with -gusto. And after it he went to sleep again and awoke in the afternoon -quite himself, save for an astonishing wabbliness in his legs. The next -day he was out on the “front porch” in the warm sunlight when June -departed to town, and still later he walked around some, to Sam’s -vociferous delight, and cooked some lunch for himself and discovered a -returning interest in the garden. And the next day he reported to Mr. -Callahan for work again and was curtly informed that his place had been -given to someone else. - -As June had visited the stable and told the liveryman of Wayne’s -illness as soon as it became evident that the latter couldn’t go -to work, and as Mr. Callahan had given June to understand that the -position would be kept open, Wayne was too astounded to even make a -reply, and it wasn’t until he was a full block away that it occurred -to him to be either indignant or disappointed. And then, as neither -indignation nor disappointment promised any relief, he tried his best -to swallow them and put his mind on the problem of finding other -work. There was another livery stable in town that he knew of, and -there might be still more that he didn’t know of, and, while driving -a carriage wasn’t at all his idea of a satisfactory occupation, it -brought money to his pocket and enabled him to live, and whereas he had -not been particularly interested in living four days ago, today he was -convinced that it was not only desirable but delightful. There is at -least this to be said for an illness: after it is through with you it -leaves you with a greater appreciation of life. - -Wayne visited the stable he knew of but received no encouragement. The -foreman told him that they had all the men they needed and that they -didn’t expect to have a vacancy in the near future. He directed Wayne -to another livery, however, at the farther side of town, and Wayne set -off. His course took him over the railroad about a block beyond the -freight sheds. It was nearly nine by then and the scene about him was -a very busy one. Cars were loading and unloading beside the long, high -platforms, while, on the other side of the sheds, trucks and drays were -coming and going along the cobbled street. A switch engine was tooting -frantically for a switch and a long train of day coaches and sleepers -sent Wayne scurrying out of the way. Then an impatient engine clanged -up with a couple of gondolas laden with machinery and contemptuously -jerked them onto a side-track, spurting off again as though vastly -relieved to be rid of such trifling company. There were many tracks -where Wayne crossed and one had to keep one’s eyes opened. When he was -half-way over a pounding of the rails caused him to look down the line. -A long train of empty box cars was backing toward him at a brisk speed, -the locomotive out of sight at the far end. Wayne hurried his pace and -reached an empty track in plenty of time, and was for paying no more -heed to the string of empties until a shout behind him brought his -head quickly around. - -On the roof of the first car a man was doing two things at once. He -was yelling at the top of his voice and swinging himself over the -end of the car to the ladder there as fast as he could. A few yards -distant, squarely in the middle of the track, stood a boy of five or -six years. Afterward Wayne wondered where he had come from, for surely -he had not been in sight a moment before, but just now there was no -time for speculation. The child, terrorised into immobility, stood as -though rooted to the cinders between the rails. Wayne’s cry was uttered -involuntarily as he leaped forward. Only one line of track separated -him from the boy, but it seemed impossible for him to reach the latter -before the bumper of the box car struck him. - -[Illustration: Wayne’s Cry Was Uttered Involuntarily as he Leaped -Forward] - -As Wayne dashed forward with a horrified, sickening fear at his heart -the brakeman dropped from the car ladder. But he staggered as his -feet touched the ground, and had the boy’s safety depended on him he -would never have escaped. It was Wayne who caught him up roughly and -half lifted, half dragged him across the further rail to safety just -as the end of the car swept over the spot on which he had stood. So -close was the escape that the corner of the car struck Wayne’s hip -and sent him reeling to fall on his knees against the end of the ties -of the next track, the child sprawled beside him. Dazed, breathless, -Wayne struggled to his feet, pulling the lad up with him. Twenty feet -distant a switch engine had stopped with grinding brakes, and engineer -and fireman were running toward him. The train of empty box cars rolled -stolidly on, but in a moment began to slow down with much bumping and -clatter of couplings, while back along the roofs sped the brakeman -whose warning shout had alarmed Wayne. Just what happened during the -next few minutes Wayne couldn’t recall afterward. The lad, his face -crushed to Wayne’s worn coat, was sobbing hysterically. The engineer -and fireman were there, and presently the brakeman dropped down beside -them, and after that other men appeared as though by magic. Everyone -talked at once and it was all very confused. Someone took the boy from -Wayne and lifted him in arms and someone else propelled Wayne across -toward the freight house. About that time the talk around him began to -register itself on his brain. - -“’Tis Jim Mason’s kid,” said one. “’Twould have broke his heart -entirely had the lad been hurted!” - -“Hurted!” scoffed another. “Sure, ’tis dead he’d be this minute save -for this la-ad here! ’Twas a close shave at that, I’m telling you. -Faith, I shut my eyes, I did so!” It was either the engineer or the -fireman speaking. “Are you hurted, me boy?” This was to Wayne, and -Wayne shook his head silently. “Your hands be cut a bit, but they’ll -soon mend.” - -“You’d better wash the dirt out,” advised another as they climbed the -steps at the end of the platform. “I’ve known lockjaw to come from -less, and----” - -But just then they entered the dim twilight of the shed and Wayne, -pushed ahead by his good-natured captors, lost the rest of the cheerful -remark. Someone shouted for “Jim! Jim Mason!” and an answering hail -came from further down the shed and a big man advanced toward them, -illumined for a moment as he passed one of the wide, sunlit doorways. - -“What’s wanted?” he shouted. - -“’Tis your kid, Jim,” was the reply. “Nearly run over he was a minute -back. All right, laddie, here’s your father comin’. Hush your cryin’ -now.” - -“_Terry!_” The big man’s voice held wonder and alarm and joy. He sprang -across the intervening space and seized the child from the arms that -held him. “Terry! Are you hurt, darling? What were you doing on the -tracks? Don’t cry, son, it’s over now.” He turned questioningly to the -sympathetic faces about him, faces that were grinning only because -tears were so near the eyes. “How did it happen, fellows? Who saw it?” - -“Him and me,” answered one man, “and Larry there. Larry was riding the -roof on a string of empties when he seen the boy on the track----” - -“Holy Saints, but I was scared stiff!” broke in the brakeman. “I gave a -shout and tried to get down the ladder, but when I jumped I hit the end -of a tie, Jim, and it was this fellow----” - -“Grabbed him up in the nick o’ time,” went on another. “I seen it from -the cab window. There wasn’t the width of an eyelash between the car -and the child when he got him. Sure, even then I thought it was good -night to the pair of them. The car hit the fellow as he jumped and----” - -“So ’twas you?” said Jim Mason in his big, deep voice. “’Twas brave of -you, sir, and God bless you for it.” He had the child on one big arm -now and stretched his free hand toward Wayne. “I guess I don’t need to -say I’m thankful to you. You know that, sir. I think a deal of this -little kiddie, and as for his mother----” His voice trembled. “Heaven -only knows what she would do if anything happened to him! She’ll thank -you better than I can, but if there’s anything Jim Mason can do for -you, why, you say it!” - -“It was nothing,” stammered Wayne. “I’m glad that--that I was there, -and that I--was in time, sir.” - -“God be praised and so am I!” said the father fervently. “Hush your -crying now, Terry. It’s your father that’s got you. Can you thank the -brave lad for saving you?” - -But Terry couldn’t. Terry was as yet incapable of anything but sobs. -Wayne, wanting to go, scarcely knew how. Mechanically he raised a -bruised knuckle to his lips and Jim Mason was all solicitude. - -“You’ve cut your fist!” he exclaimed. “Come to the office with me till -I fix it up for you. There’s dirt in it, likely. Larry, I’m thanking -you, too, for what you did,” he added, turning to the brakeman. “I’ll -not forget it.” - -“Sure, I did nothing,” laughed the brakeman embarrassedly, “only yell!” - -“It was his shout that drew my attention,” said Wayne. “He tried hard -to get to him.” - -“What matter now?” muttered the brakeman. “’Tis all over, and ’twas you -was Johnny-on-the-Spot, feller. ’Twas finely done, too, and no mistake! -I take my hat off to you for a fine, quick-thinkin’ and quick-doin’ -laddie!” - -“Why, I know you now!” said Jim Mason at that moment. “I was thinking -all the time I’d seen you before. You’re the kid--I mean the young -gentleman--that spoke me one morning a couple of weeks ago. You had a -nigger boy with you, and a dog. Ain’t I right?” - -“Yes, Mr. Mason, but it was more than two weeks ago,” answered Wayne. -“I--I’m glad to see you again.” - -“Well, if you’re glad, what about me?” bellowed Jim Mason. “Thank you -all, fellows. I’ll mend this gentleman’s hand now. Will you come with -me, please?” - -Wayne followed the man to the farther end of the freight house where, -occupying a corner that afforded a view down the long stretch of -shining tracks, there was a cubby-hole of an office. A high desk, a -correspondingly tall stool, a battered armchair, a straight-backed -chair, a stove, and a small table made up the furnishings. The walls -held many hooks on which were impaled various documents, a shelf -filled with filing-cases, several highly-coloured calendars, a number -of pictures cut from magazines and newspapers, and, over one of -the two dusty-paned windows, a yard-long framed photograph of “The -Lake-to-Coast Limited.” In spite of dust and confusion, a confusion -which as Wayne later discovered was more apparent than real, the -little office had a cosy, comfortable air, and the sunlight, flooding -through the front window, made even the dust-motes glorious. - -Jim Mason set the child in a chair, produced a first-aid kit from some -place of concealment, and proceeded to repair the damages wrought by -the cinders. There was running water outside, and the wounds, none of -them more than surface scratches, were first thoroughly cleaned. Then -peroxide was liberally applied, the man grunting with satisfaction when -the stuff bubbled. Finally surgeon’s tape was put on, and Wayne was -discharged. During his administrations Jim Mason asked questions at the -rate of a dozen a minute, and soon had Wayne’s history down to date. -The liveryman’s callousness wrought him to gruff indignation. - -“Fired you because you was sick, did he, the pup? What do you know -about that? Sit down and rest yourself, lad.” He perched himself on -the stool and became busy with a pile of waybills on the desk, talking -as he worked. “And so you’re out of a job again, are you? I suppose a -smart lad like you can figure and write a good fist, maybe?” - -“I can figure,” replied Wayne, “but I don’t believe my writing’s much -to boast of.” - -“Here, put your name and your address on that.” Jim pushed a slip of -paper to the end of the desk and dipped a pen in ink. - -Wayne wrote and handed the result back. “‘Wayne Torrence Sloan,’” read -Jim, “‘Carhurst, Medfield, Pennsylvania.’ That’s not so bad. But what -might ‘Carhurst’ mean?” - -Wayne explained and the man chuckled. “It’s a fine-sounding name -all right,” he said. “How’d you like a job here with me, Sloan? I -been looking for a feller for a week. There’s a guy up to Springdale -that wants the place, and he’s coming down this afternoon to see me, -but--I don’t know.” Jim looked out the window and whistled a tune -thoughtfully. “He mightn’t do at all,” he went on after a moment, “and -if you say you want to try it----” - -“I do!” said Wayne promptly. “That is, if you think I could.” - -Jim turned and looked him over appraisingly. “I don’t see why not. If -you can figure and write a bit and do as I tell you, you’d have no -trouble. And you look like a strong, healthy lad, although your face -is sort of pale. That comes of being sick, I guess. ’Tain’t all office -work, for you’ll have to be out in the yard a good deal. You’d be here -at eight in the morning--I’m here long before, but you wouldn’t need to -be--and get off at five, with an hour for dinner. The pay ain’t much, -only eight dollars, but if you got on there might be something better; -maybe a place in the main office. Want to try it?” - -“Very much,” said Wayne. - -“All right then. Maybe I can head that feller at Springdale off and -save him a trip.” He drew a telegram blank from a pigeonhole and wrote -slowly and laboriously. “Maybe I’m taking a chance, lad, for I don’t -know much about you, do you see, and you haven’t any references, but a -feller that shows pluck like you did awhile ago can’t have much wrong -with him, I’m thinking. There, I’ll put this on the wire. Be around at -eight sharp in the morning, lad, and I’ll put you to work. Better come -a bit before eight, though, so’s I can tell you what’s wanted before -the rush starts. Got any money?” - -“A little, sir.” - -“Get yourself a suit of overalls; black like these. You’ll need ’em -likely. Now I got to do something with this kid.” Jim turned and -observed his offspring frowningly. Terry had at last stopped sobbing -and was watching interestedly through the front window the operation -of unloading a car. “How he came to be wandering about here I dunno. -And maybe his mother’s worrying about him this minute. He ought to be -home, but I don’t see how I can get him there.” - -“Let me take him home,” offered Wayne eagerly. “Just tell me where the -house is, Mr. Mason.” - -The man’s face lightened. “Will you do it?” he exclaimed. “That’s fine, -then. Will you go with the nice gentleman, Terry?” - -Terry looked doubtful, but when Wayne smiled down at him he nodded -shyly and summoned a smile in return. - -“I live on Monmouth Street,” said Jim. “’Tis the fourth house from the -corner of Railroad Avenue, the one with the sun-parlor on it.” There -was pride in his voice when he mentioned the sun-parlor and Wayne was -quite certain that it was the only sun-parlor on Monmouth Street. “Ask -for Mrs. Mason and just tell her the kid was down to see me and I sent -him home by you. Don’t tell her about what happened, lad. She’d be tied -up in a knot. I’ll give her the story when I get home. Maybe you’d -better go around to the back, for I dunno would she hear you knock, -being busy in the kitchen likely. Do you want the nice gentleman to -carry you, Terry, or will you walk along like a little man, eh?” - -“Want to be carried,” said Terry promptly. “I’m tired, daddy.” - -“’Tis a blessing you ain’t worse than tired, kiddie,” said his father -feelingly. “How came it you were down here all alone, Terry?” - -Terry studied his shoes intently for a moment. At last: “Wanted to see -choo-choos,” he answered. - -“Listen to me, Terry. Don’t you ever come around the choo-choos again -without somebody’s with you. If you ever do I’ll whale you, kid. -Remember that. Now go along with the gentleman and be a good boy.” - -Wayne carried Terry until they were across the tracks and then the -child demanded to be set down. “You don’t carry Terry like daddy does,” -he complained. “Want to walk?” So they went the rest of the way hand -in hand, Terry, now most communicative, talking incessantly. Wayne had -a very hazy idea as to the location of Monmouth Street and Terry’s -directions were difficult to follow, so he had to ask his way several -times. But he found the house eventually, easily identifying it by the -sun-parlor which stood out at one end of a tiny front porch like a sore -thumb. Mrs. Mason proved to be a comely, smiling-faced woman apparently -some years Jim’s senior. Terry, she explained, as she wiped her hands -on her apron in the back doorway, had been turned out to play in the -yard, and he was a bad boy to run away like that. “You might have been -killed,” she told the child severely, “and the Lord only knows why you -wasn’t. Thank you, sir, for bringin’ him back, and I hope he was no -trouble to you.” - -“Not a bit, Mrs. Mason. He behaved beautifully. Good-bye, Terry. Be a -good boy now and don’t run off again.” - -“Good-bye,” answered Terry, politely but indifferently. “I got a hen, -I have, an’ she’s going to have a lot of little chickens pretty soon. -Want to see her?” - -“Not today, Terry, thanks,” laughed Wayne. “Maybe I’ll come and see her -after the chickens are hatched.” - -“All right. Mama, can I have some bread and sugar?” - -Wayne left while that question was being debated and hurried off -uptown, first to tell June the wonderful news and then to purchase that -black jumper. There was a new quality in the April sunshine now and -Wayne discovered for the first time that Medfield was an attractive -place after all. The folks he passed on the street looked friendly, -the clanging of the trolley car gongs fell pleasantly on his ear; in -short, the world had quite changed since early morning and was now a -cheerful, hopeful place, filled with sunshine and bustle and ambition. -Wayne’s spirits soared like the billowing white clouds of steam above -the buildings and he whistled a gay little tune as he went along. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -BIG TOM MAKES AN OFFER - - -He spent the afternoon, after his return to “Carhurst,” in planting his -garden and had the seeds all in by the time June came. He displayed -the result proudly. Every row was marked with a little stick on which -was perched the empty seed packet like a white nightcap. June admired -flatteringly and then, for so it always happens, criticised. - -“Seems to me like you ought to put them rows ’tother way roun’, Mas’ -Wayne, ’cause the sun goin’ to shine this yere way. Back home they -always set the rows with the sun.” - -“That’s so, June,” acknowledged Wayne. “I forgot that.” But he was in -far too fine spirits to be worried by a little thing like that. He said -he reckoned they’d grow just the same, and June agreed with him, but a -trifle doubtfully. Then June questioned whether the planting had been -done at the right time of the moon, and Wayne lost patience and told -him to get busy and help carry stones for a border. They had to fairly -dig for those stones and it was almost twilight by the time they had -the bed neatly edged. Then June washed up and set about his culinary -duties, leaving Wayne outside to admire his handiwork from various -angles and try to picture mentally the appearance of that bed three -months later. - -Wayne had brought home a slice of ham as a special delicacy and June -fried it to a turn, after cutting it in three pieces to fit the -diminutive pan, and made coffee, and cut bread, and opened a can of -peaches, and, in brief, prepared a banquet fit for Luculus--or two very -healthy and hungry boys, one of whom had been on short rations for a -week! Afterward, by the light of a swinging lantern which had taken the -place of the candles with which they had at first tried to illumine -their abode, Wayne read from the newspapers that June picked up at the -hotel and brought home with him. June had a weakness for such things -as robberies, murders, fires, shipwrecks, and similar sensations, -while Wayne always looked for the baseball news first. So, to be quite -fair, he alternated, reading first, perhaps, the story of a Texas bank -robbery and following with an interesting rumour regarding the trade -of Catcher Moffet to the Pirates by the Braves. Toward the last of the -news budget, especially if the robberies and train wrecks and such -gave out, June usually fell asleep and snored unflatteringly, and Wayne -finished his perusal in silence. But tonight the latter early exhausted -the papers and the boys fell to a discussion of Wayne’s new job and to -laying plans for the future. - -“Of course,” said Wayne, “if I get eight dollars a week it won’t be -long before we can go on to New York.” He made the observation without -apparent enthusiasm, however. For the past fortnight New York had -slipped out of their conversation. June nodded, opened his mouth, -closed it again without speaking and once more nodded. “It doesn’t -cost us more than three dollars a week to live and so we’d have twenty -dollars saved up in no time at all,” Wayne added. - -“That’s so,” agreed the other. “Reckon New York’s a mighty fine city, -ain’ it?” - -“Wonderful, June.” - -“Uh-huh. Bigger’n Medfield consid’able?” - -“Medfield! Why, New York’s a thousand times bigger than Medfield, you -silly!” - -“Say it is?” June digested that in silence for a moment. Then: “Must be -a powerful big ol’ place, Mas’ Wayne,” he said dolorously. “Ain’ you -afraid we’d get lost or somethin’. There was a feller I know got lost -in Atlanta one time an’ he didn’ find hisself for days an’ days, no -sir! An’ I ’spects New York’s a heap bigger’n Atlanta, ain’ it?” - -“Lots bigger. Atlanta’s just a village compared to New York.” - -“Uh-huh.” June remained silent this time for many minutes, and Wayne -too seemed engrossed in thought. Finally, though, June said: “Mas’ -Wayne, what we-all got to go to New York for, sir? Why don’t we stay -jus’ where we is? We’s both of us got jobs here, an’ goodness only -knows what’s goin’ to happen to us in that big ol’ place! Why don’t we -stay put, Mas’ Wayne?” - -“Well,” answered the other slowly, “we started for New York, June, you -know.” - -“Yes, sir, we surely done started for it, but we don’t have to get -where we started for, does we? Ol’ Eph Jennings, he started for the -circus one day but he fotched up in the calaboose, Mas’ Wayne. Startin’ -an’ stoppin’s mighty different things, I reckon. Let’s us stay right -here a little while longer, please, sir.” - -“All right, June. I--I guess I’d rather, anyway,” answered Wayne. - -The next morning he started at his new work, rather doubtful as to his -ability to perform it satisfactorily but determined to try his very -hardest. There were two reasons for that, one the necessity of earning -money and the other a strong desire to please Jim Mason and prove that -he had made no mistake in his choice of a helper. By evening of that -first day, however, Wayne knew that the work was not beyond him, and he -went home at dusk happy in the knowledge. Perhaps someone who had the -interests of the boy less at heart might have made that first day in -the freight house far from simple for him, for, of course, the duties -were new and strange, but Jim was patient and explained everything -clearly and in detail. Wayne found that his mathematical ability was -more than enough to cope with such simple problems as fell to him. Most -of that morning was occupied in filing away an accumulation of papers -that had got far ahead of Jim during the time he had had no assistant. -There were waybills to check after that, and once Wayne had to go -up and down the yard on a vain search for a mislaid flat car loaded -with two tractor engines. Jim, relieved of much of the clerical work, -was busy outside most of the day, but he and Wayne ate their lunches -together in the little office, Jim sharing the can of coffee he had -brought. - -As the days went on Wayne’s tasks multiplied. He went errands to the -main office down the track a block, he tacked waycards to freight cars, -became an adept with lead seals and pincers, learned how to coax open -a door that had “frozen,” became friends with most of the workers and -truckmen--not a difficult task since the story of his timely rescue of -little Terry Mason had gone the rounds and even got in the _Medfield -Evening Star_, although Wayne didn’t learn of that until later and -never read the account of his heroism--and got on very famously for -a new hand. And he liked his work, which is always half the battle. -Jim began to trust him with bigger things when he had been there a -fortnight, and Wayne proved worthy of the trust. Perhaps the things -weren’t so vastly important, after all, but they seemed so to Wayne; -to Jim, too, for that matter, for Jim was extremely conscientious and -took his work seriously. After a few days Wayne got to walking across -the tracks and up the line a ways to the Golden Star Lunch. He was -always sure of a welcome there, and sometimes, when the wagon wasn’t -very full, he and “Mister Denny” had long and serious conversations on -a variety of subjects. Denny had a fair education, was an omnivorous -reader, a good listener and held views of his own. Moreover, he could -put his views into words. They were sometimes unusual, but Wayne had a -feeling that it was a heap better to have opinions and be able to state -them, even if they were queer, than to merely agree with everyone else. - -There was one subject that never failed them as a conversational -topic, and that was baseball. Denny was a “thirty-third degree fan” -if ever there was one. Besides that he had some practical knowledge -of the game, for he had played it from the time he was four feet high -until he had bought the lunch-wagon and set up in business. Wayne’s -command of baseball history and percentages was nothing like Denny’s, -but he followed the news closely and there were some rare discussions -at times in the Golden Star. Many of the freight handlers and truck -drivers patronised Denny’s café and Wayne was surprised to find how -much they knew of the national pastime and how intelligently they could -talk of it. Quite frequently the lunch-wagon shook with the ardour of -debate, for there were deep and hearty voices in the company. But a -time shortly came when Wayne didn’t loiter in the Golden Star after his -lunch was eaten, for he had found by then a better way to spend the -remaining time. - -He had been in the freight house about a fortnight and May had come -to the world, bringing ardent sunshine and soft breezes. Green leaves -were unfolding and the meadows were verdant. It was sometimes a task in -those first warm days to move, and the trucks that rolled incessantly -from cars to platform and from platform to freight house moved more -slowly. One noontime Wayne felt too languorous to walk even as far as -Denny’s, and so he bought two sandwiches and some apples from a man who -came around with a basket and joined the throng on the shaded platform -where the trucks stood. After a while one of the younger fellows pulled -a baseball from his pocket and soon a half-dozen were throwing and -catching in the wide cobble-paved road behind the sheds. Wayne watched -lazily and interestedly until a wild throw sent the ball rolling under -a truck to his feet. He jumped down and rescued it and threw it back, -choosing the man farthest distant and speeding the ball to him so hard -and true that shouts of commendation rewarded him. - -“Come on out here, kid, and take a hand,” called one of the players, -and Wayne, glad enough to do it, responded, forgetting that a quarter -of an hour ago he had felt too lazy to walk two blocks. There was lots -of fun to be had, for many of the players, Wayne amongst them, had not -handled a ball since the summer before and the “hot ones” made them -wince and yell, something that always brought laughter from the rest. -Soon a dozen or so were at it and the ball passed from one to another, -up and down the road. Occasionally a fly would go up and a mad scramble -ensue in which hats fell off and the ball, as like as not, escaped -them all. Wayne thoroughly enjoyed that half-hour and resolved to buy a -baseball on his way home so that he and June could pass. - -A few days later someone produced a bran-new bat and the fun increased. -At the end of a week or so they were playing “scrub” every noon-hour, -and by common consent the truckmen left their vehicles at the far end -of the platform so that there would be more room for playing. Even -so the diamond was pretty narrow and the distance from first base to -third was ludicrously short. A ball hit to right or left performed -strange antics, bounding from wall or platform and landing almost -anywhere in infield or out. Freight handlers, truckmen, clerks from the -main office, switchmen, even “Big Tom” Maynard, who ran the Limited -and laid over in Medfield twice a week, took part. And there was a -slim, good-looking youth named Pattern who worked in the office of -the coal company several blocks away and who could pitch a ball so -that you couldn’t see it until it had passed you. With the exception -of Pattern and possibly a truckman named Donovan, who had once played -semi-professional ball on some team in New Jersey, Wayne was the star -of the gatherings. He never failed of a hit save when Pattern was in -the points, and even then was the only one who could come near to -meeting that youth’s offerings, and fielded remarkably. So, at least, -the less adept considered. “Big Tom,” who by virtue of having the best -run on the road was accorded unusual respect, told Wayne he was wasting -his time. It was a noon when a sudden shower had driven them to the -shelter of the overhang. - -“If I had a wing like you’ve got, kid, I’d be training for the Big -League. I surely would. You’re a natural-born ball player, son. I know -a fellow up in Lebanon who’ll be glad to give you a try-out if you say -the word.” - -“I reckon I’d better stick to what I’m sure of,” laughed Wayne. “I -reckon I wouldn’t last very long up there.” - -“Sure you would,” said Big Tom earnestly. “And look at the money you’d -be getting! They wouldn’t pay you a cent under twenty dollars, kid!” - -“But I’m getting thirty-five here, Mr. Maynard.” - -“You’re what? Thirty-five a week?” - -“No,” stammered Wayne, “thirty-five a month.” - -“What you talking about then? Twenty a week’s what they’d pay you up in -Lebanon. Maybe a lot more. Tell you what I’ll do, kid; I’ll tell this -fellow about you the next time I see him, eh?” - -But Wayne shook his head. “Thanks, but I reckon I’ll stick here,” he -answered. - -Big Tom told him he was making a mistake and appealed for confirmation -to Pattern who had joined them. Pattern laughed. “Twenty dollars, you -say? What sort of a team is it, Maynard?” - -“It’s a corking good team, that’s what sort----” - -“I mean is it professional? Or semi or what?” - -“Why, I guess it’s a professional team. Sure it is. They play in the -Central City League.” - -“I see. Well, I’d advise this fellow to keep out of it then. He’d be -wasting his time with a bunch of pikers like that.” Pattern turned -from Big Tom’s indignant countenance to Wayne. “When you think you’d -like to play ball for a living, you tackle the manager of a real team. -Tell him you want a try-out. He will give it to you if he’s any good. -If he isn’t you don’t want to join him. These two-by-twice ball teams -don’t get you anything but a lot of hard work and you can stay in one -of them until you’re gray-headed without doing any better for yourself. -I played with one of them one summer and I know something about them. -When you aim, aim high. It pays.” - -“I wasn’t thinking of aiming at all,” said Wayne. “I don’t reckon I -could play baseball good enough for a real team.” - -“Maybe you could and maybe you couldn’t,” replied Pattern. “Anyway, -don’t throw up a good job on the off-chance of becoming a Ty Cobb or a -Baker.” - -Big Tom took himself off, disgruntled and grumbling, and Pattern swung -himself to the platform at Wayne’s side. “How old are you?” he asked, -and raised his eyebrows when Wayne told him seventeen. “I’d have -thought you were eighteen, anyway,” he said. “Played much?” - -“I played four years at home,” answered Wayne, “on my school team. And -one summer with a team we got up in our town.” - -“That all? Well, some fellows are like that. Sort of born with the -baseball knack. Comes naturally to them. My roommate in college was -that sort. He didn’t have to learn, you might say. He was the shiftiest -shortstop I ever saw outside professional teams. You sort of remind me -of him the way you handle the ball.” - -“Do they really pay as much as twenty dollars a week?” asked Wayne. “I -mean just for fielders. Of course I know that pitchers and star batters -get lots of money, but I always thought most of it was just--just on -paper.” - -“There are all sorts of salaries. You get somewhere near what you’re -worth, as a general thing. Twenty a week is poor pay for a good -fielder, my boy, even in the bushes. Thirty-five’s more like it.” - -“Thirty-five dollars a week!” exclaimed Wayne. “Why, that’s more than -two hundred a month!” - - - - -CHAPTER X - -NEW FRIENDS - - -“Yes, I believe it figures out something like that,” laughed the -other. “But, mind you, I’m not saying you could get that. Probably you -couldn’t get anything yet. You’re a year or two too young. If I were -you, and thought seriously of playing professional ball, I’d get on -some amateur team this year and play with them for the practice.” - -“What’s the difference, please, between an amateur team and a -professional?” - -“Money. On an amateur team you play for the love of playing and nothing -else. On a professional team you play for the love of playing plus a -fat salary.” - -“I see,” murmured Wayne. “But could I--I mean would you----” - -“Sure, if I needed the money,” was the answer. “I wouldn’t be a -professional ball player and expect to stick at it all my life. You -can’t do it. The pace is too hard. But if I had the ability and could -command a good salary for playing ball I’d do it, and keep my eyes -open for something better. I know a chap who played professional ball -for six years and studied law in the winter and whenever he got a -chance. Then he went into an office two winters. After that he quit -baseball and now he’s doing well over in Trenton. Lots of folks think -professional baseball is like highway robbery or something. They class -professional ball players and prize fighters and thugs all together. I -guess there was a time when some ball players were a roughish lot, but -that’s gone by. Most of them are just like the rest of us nowadays. -A lot of them lead cleaner lives than the folks who knock them. They -have to, for one thing. Anyway, they do it. You can be a professional -ball player now and be a gentleman, too. Most of them are. A great many -are college fellows; practically all are educated. They don’t expect -to make a life’s work of it, you see. They’ve got the gift of playing -good ball and they turn it into money, just the same as a man who has -the gift of teaching Greek turns it into money. It’s just a business -proposition. Where your ball player has it on some of the rest of us is -just here: he likes his work and we don’t!” - -Pattern knocked the ashes from his pipe against the edge of the -platform and yawned. “I’ve got to get back,” he announced. “It’s nearly -one. Think over what I said about joining an amateur team and getting -practice, my boy. That’s your best move.” He nodded, smiled, and -hurried away, leaving Wayne, for some reason, rather excited. - -He had never considered playing baseball for a living, had never taken -his ability seriously. He had known since he was fourteen that he -could field and throw and bat far better than his playmates, but he -had accepted the fact without concern. They had made him captain of -his school team in his last year and he had led them through a season -of almost uninterrupted victories. And that summer he had played -twice a week with the “White Sox,” a local aggregation formed by the -young men and older boys in Sleepersville, holding down third base -with phenomenal success and winning renown with his bat. But never -until today had it occurred to him that he might perhaps earn money -in such a simple way as playing a game he loved. It didn’t sound -sensible, he thought. Why, he would be glad to play baseball for -his board and lodging alone! Glad to do it for nothing if he could -afford to! To receive thirty-five dollars a week, or even twenty, for -doing it sounded absurd. But, of course, fellows did get paid for it, -and--and--well, it was something to think over! - -He thought it over a good deal during the succeeding days. He had -another talk with Pattern, waylaying him one evening on his return from -the coal office. He had, he said, decided to follow the other’s advice -about joining an amateur team, but he didn’t know how to do it, didn’t -know where there was such a team. - -“There’s one here in Medfield,” replied Pattern. “Two, in fact. The -Athletics have a pretty fair bunch, but I don’t believe they’d take you -on. They’re rather a silk-stocking lot. The other team is the Chenango. -Younger fellows mostly: the Y. M. C. A. bunch. By the way, you don’t -belong to the Y. M. C. A., do you? Why don’t you join? It won’t cost -you much of anything and will do you a lot of good all around. You’ll -meet fellows, for one thing. I’ll get you an application, Sloan. It’s -something you ought to do, my boy.” - -“I’d like to very much,” said Wayne. “But I’m afraid I wouldn’t have -much time for playing ball. You see, I have to work until five every -day.” - -“Most of the others do, too, I guess. They usually hold practice after -that time. You’ll have your Saturday afternoons to yourself after -the middle of June, and they only play on Saturdays. You join the -Association, Sloan, and I’ll make you acquainted with some of the -chaps there. You’ll find them a nice lot. And I guess you won’t have -much trouble getting a chance to play.” - -Pattern--his full name was Arthur Pattern, as Wayne eventually -learned--was as good as his word and four days later Wayne was a member -of the Medfield Young Men’s Christian Association and had increased his -list of acquaintances about two hundred per cent. The Association had a -comfortable building in the new business district, with a well-equipped -gymnasium, a small auditorium, reading, lounging, and game rooms, and -a few bedrooms at the top of the building, one of which Arthur Pattern -occupied. Pattern, Wayne learned, was not a native of Medfield, but -had come there a year before from a small town in New Hampshire, where -his folks still resided. Pattern preferred his room at the Y. M. C. -A. to similar accommodation at a boarding-house. It was in Pattern’s -little room that Wayne made a clean breast of his adventures for the -past three months. His host, who had vouched for him to the Association -without knowing any more about him than had been revealed to him in -their few meetings in the freight yard, had asked no questions, but -Wayne thought he owed some account of himself to his new friend. -Pattern listened interestedly, and when Wayne had ended shook his head -slowly. - -“It’s none of my business, Sloan,” he said, “and I don’t know what you -were up against back home, but this thing of running away is usually a -pretty poor business. However, that’s done now. One thing I would do if -I were you, though, is write back and tell your stepfather where you -are and how you are. I guess you owe him that much. Will you do that?” - -Wayne consented doubtfully. “I wouldn’t want him to come after me, -though, and fetch me home with him,” he said. - -“I dare say he could do that, but I don’t believe he would. From what -you’ve told me of him--or, maybe, from what you haven’t told me--I -gather that he might be rather relieved to be rid of the expense of -clothing and feeding you, Sloan. Anything in that?” - -“A heap, I reckon. I don’t mind his knowing where I am as long as he -doesn’t make trouble.” - -“I don’t see what trouble he could make,” objected Pattern. “Anyway, -you’d feel better for writing. I’d tell him why I left, that I was well -and getting on and that I meant to make my own way.” - -“June wrote to his mother a little while after we got here, so I reckon -Mr. Higgins knows I’m still alive. June didn’t tell where we were, -though.” - -“Where did he mail his letter?” asked the other. “Here in Medfield?” - -“Yes.” - -“Then it seems to me he may have a suspicion,” laughed Pattern. - -“I never thought of that!” exclaimed Wayne, joining the laughter. “I -reckon if he’d wanted me back he’d been after me before this, then. -I’ll write tonight, before I go home.” - -“I would. What about this boy that’s with you? Why doesn’t he join -here, too?” - -“June? Why, he--he’s coloured!” - -“So you said. What’s that got to do with it? Isn’t he a clean, decent -boy?” - -“Why, yes, but--I thought----” - -“We don’t draw the colour line up here, Sloan. We’ve got more than -a dozen coloured fellows in the Association right now. Some of them -are mighty well liked, too. You’d better get your friend to come in. -It’ll be good for him and good for us. We’re trying to get all the new -members we can. See if you can’t persuade him.” - -“Oh, he will join if I tell him to,” responded Wayne carelessly. “But -it seems--sort of funny----” - -“Yes, but you’re not down in Dixie now, my boy. Remember that.” - -For once, however, Wayne’s authority failed him. June firmly and -respectfully declined to have anything to do with the Y. M. C. A. -“Maybe it’s jus’ like you-all say, Mas’ Wayne, but I ain’ fixin’ to act -like these yere Northern darkies, no, sir! I done watch ’em. They acts -like they thought they was quality, Mas’ Wayne, dressin’ themselves up -in store clothes an’ buttin’ white folks right off’n the sidewalk! If -they was down in Colquitt County someone’d hit ’em over the head with a -axe!” - -“But this isn’t Colquitt County, June. This is up North, and things are -different here. Up here a coloured man is as good as a white man--at -least they think he is.” - -“No, sir, Mas’ Wayne, they don’ think that, sir. They jus’ perten’ they -thinks it. Don’ no white man sit down to a table with a nigger, does -they? They lets you ride in the same car with the white folks, but you -can’ go to white folkses hotel. It’s mighty mixed up, Mas’ Wayne, an’ -you don’ know where you is!” - -“But there are a lot of coloured fellows in the Y. M. C. A., June. -Doesn’t that show that it’s all right for you to join it?” - -“Shows it’s all right for them, Mas’ Wayne, but it don’ prove nothin’ -to me! I jus’ wouldn’ care for it. White folks is white folks an’ -niggers is niggers, an’ there ain’ no gettin’ aroun’ it, Mas’ Wayne. -No, sir, don’ you ask me to join no ’Sociation, Mas’ Wayne.” - -Secretly, Wayne was a little relieved at June’s decision, for he held -the same views on the subject. He and June had been playmates when -they were tiny, companions later, and friends always, but he had been -brought up in the firm conviction that the negro was an inferior race. -Whether he was right or wrong I don’t pretend to know. - -At all events, June remained firm. By this time he was flourishing -exceedingly. His deposit had been paid and he was now getting three -dollars every Monday from the proprietor of the hotel and earning -an average of twice that amount in tips, all of which, it may be -truthfully stated, he did his honest best to deserve. He was easily the -most popular of the four bell boys employed at the hotel, and, since -envy and malice are not confined to those with white skins, he had -had his troubles. The head bell boy who, prior to June’s advent, had -ruled the roost with a high hand, levying toll on the earnings of the -other and younger boys, had not yielded his rule without a struggle. -But he had run up against a Tartar in June, for the latter refused to -either acknowledge the other’s right of dominion or give up any of his -earnings to him. The eventual result was a decisive battle with fists -in the furnace-room, a bout in which June, in spite of smaller size and -weight, conclusively proved his superiority. The head bell boy retired -from public life for the space of one whole day, and, when he returned, -brought back with him a meek and respectful demeanour. June didn’t -deceive himself into thinking that the other was any fonder of him for -the beating he had received, but he was quite sure that thereafter he -would be let alone. - -Meanwhile Wayne learned a little better every day how to make himself -useful to Jim Mason and every day grew to find more interest in his -work. He became a great favourite with the men around the freight yard, -while Jim never missed an opportunity to do him any kindness in his -power. Frequently Wayne was invited to the house with the sun-parlor -for supper or Sunday dinner, and less frequently he accepted the -invitation and went. He was always certain of good, well-cooked food -which, if plain, was abundant. Mrs. Mason had long since learned of -Wayne’s rescue of Terry and could never do enough for him. Terry, too, -welcomed the visitor, evincing an almost embarrassing enthusiasm for -his society. Wayne was duly introduced to the wonderful hen--whose -name, strangely enough, proved to be Teddie--and to her even more -wonderful brood of chickens, four in number. - -In consequence of new friends and new interests, Wayne naturally -spent less time at “Carhurst” and saw less of June. But June, too, -had found friends amongst his own race and was not lonesome. In fact, -he confided to Wayne one evening after supper, while the latter was -anxiously examining the growth of his plants and watering them from the -dish pan, that he “liked this yere place right smart,” adding that he -“reckoned it wasn’t never intended they should go to New York.” June -had blossomed forth in new clothes which, while extremely inexpensive, -made him look quite fine. Wayne tried to tease him by saying that he -was just like a Northern nigger now, but June didn’t mind. “’Tain’ your -clothes, Mas’ Wayne, that makes you ’spectable,” he said. “It’s the way -you acts!” - -Wayne, too, had provided himself with new attire. It was Arthur Pattern -who tactfully hinted at the advisability of enlarging his wardrobe, -something that Wayne had had in mind for a fortnight and had been -deterred from doing only by the realisation of the tremendous hole the -outlay would make in his savings. When he did emerge from the clothing -store carrying a neat blue serge suit in a big pasteboard box he was -as near penniless as one could be and have a jingle left in his pocket! -But the expenditure paid for itself if only in the comfortable feeling -of being decently dressed when Wayne went to the Y. M. C. A. of an -afternoon, as had become his custom. Usually Arthur Pattern stopped for -him on his way past the freight house and they walked uptown together. -Wayne saw his circle of acquaintances grow from day to day, thanks -to Arthur, and it wasn’t long before he could truthfully echo June’s -sentiments and say that he “liked this yere place right smart.” And -finally, as May was drawing to its end, he secured what he had hoped -for from the first, an invitation to join the Chenango Base-Ball Club -squad and show what he could do. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -THE CHENANGO CLUB - - -The club had already played several games by that time, but, as all -the members were either attending high school or employed at work, -one day’s line-up was seldom like another’s. Captain Taylor never -knew until the last moment which of his team members would be able to -play and in consequence he tried to have two good players for every -position. Practice was held in a field on the edge of town leased by -the Association. It wasn’t either very level or very spacious, but -it sufficed. It had a board fence around it, contained a small grand -stand, a shed which answered the purpose of dressing-room, a cinder -track, one-eighth mile in circumference, and jumping pits. The practice -hour was five o’clock, or as soon after as the fellows could reach the -field, and they kept at it as long as daylight lasted or hunger would -go unappeased. - -Wayne found some twenty-odd fellows in attendance the afternoon of his -first appearance. All of them wore a uniform of some description or -a portion of one. All, that is, save Wayne, who had given no thought -to the matter of attire. Still, he was no worse off than Hoffman, -whose regalia consisted of a pair of football trousers and stockings -in combination with his usual street clothes. Hoffman was a catcher, -and when he donned mask and protector he made a laughable appearance. -His first name was Augustus, but he had been known as Gus until he had -become a clerk in the office of the gas company. Now he was called -“Gas” Hoffman. He was a fairly good catcher and a slugging batsman, as -catchers so often are. - -Practice with the Chenangos was work very largely diluted with play. -As a captain, Joe Taylor was anything but a martinet. Wayne, recalling -his own strict discipline when he had captained his school team the -year before, decided that Taylor erred on the side of laxity. Perhaps, -however, the Chenango captain knew his business, for there was a very -evident disinclination on the part of most of the candidates to take -their occupation seriously. They were there for fun and meant to have -it. Wayne had wondered that Arthur Pattern had not tried for the team -until Arthur had explained that his playing on a semi-professional team -in New Hampshire one summer had taken him out of the amateur class -and that since the Chenango was a purely amateur club he would have no -right there. - -The fellows at the field that afternoon averaged nineteen years of age. -One or two were older, among them “Gas” Hoffman and Captain Taylor. -Gas was twenty-three and Taylor twenty-one. To even the average, young -Despaigne, who played shortstop very cleverly, was only seventeen, -and Collins, a fielder, was scarcely older. Wayne suffered for lack -of baseball shoes that day and made up his mind to buy a pair at the -first opportunity. There was about twenty minutes of fielding and -batting practice and then two teams were chosen and six innings were -played. Wayne was put at third base on the second-string nine and -made a good impression in spite of his lack of practice. At bat he -failed ignominiously to hit safely even once, but, having waited out -the pitcher in one inning, he got to first and gave a very pretty -exhibition of base-stealing a moment later, reaching the coveted bag -simultaneously with the ball but eluding it by a dexterous hook-slide -that kept him far out of reach of the baseman’s sweep. - -It was all over at half-past six and the fellows walked back toward the -centre of town together, still very full of spirits, disappearing one -by one down side streets until at last only Hal Collins, a tall youth -named Wheelock, and Wayne remained. Wheelock played first base and was -thin and angular and wore glasses over a pair of pale, peering eyes. -He was about nineteen, Wayne judged, and had a slow, drawling manner -of speech and a dry humour. Collins was a quick, nervous youngster, -inclined to be sarcastic. Wayne liked Jim Wheelock best, although -for a while he was never sure whether Jim’s remarks were serious or -otherwise. It was Jim who praised Wayne’s throws to first base as they -tramped along Whitney Street. - -“You peg the ball across like you were looking where you were sending -it,” drawled Jim. “Playing first would be a cinch if they all did that, -Sloan.” - -“Jim’s idea of playing first,” said Hal Collins, “is to stand on the -bag and pick ’em off his chest. He hates to reach for anything.” - -“My arms are four inches longer than they were before I started playing -ball with this gang,” responded Jim, “and I’ve got joints in my legs -that aren’t human!” - -“Don’t any of them look human to me,” said Hal. “Say, where was Harry -Brewster today? Someone said he was sick or something.” - -“Yes, he’s got the sleeping disease,” answered Jim gravely. “Had it -ever since he got his berth in the State National. That’s why they call -it a berth when you get a job in a bank. They give you a column of -figures to add up in the morning and if you’re not asleep by half-past -ten they fire you. About four they go around with a pole and jab it -through the cages. If you don’t wake up then they put a blanket over -you and lock you in. They say Harry’s the best little sleeper they’ve -got. Wouldn’t wonder if they made him president pretty soon.” - -“Oh, quit your kidding,” laughed Hal. “What _is_ the matter with him, -Jim?” - -“Cold. Went to sleep on a New York draft yesterday.” - -“Sure it wasn’t counting coins? You can catch gold that way, you know.” - -“Yes, but it’s not so hard to check. Good-night, fellows.” Jim tramped -off down a side street and Collins asked Wayne which way he went. - -“I go down the next street,” was the answer. - -“Boarding?” - -“No, I--we keep house. About two miles out.” - -“Oh! Well, see you again. Here’s my turn. Good-night.” - -It was nearly dark when Wayne reached “Carhurst” and June had supper -ready and waiting. Sam was ready and waiting, too, but he forgot his -hunger long enough to make a fuss over his master. Wayne narrated his -experiences of the day while they plied busy knives and forks and -then June brought the chronicle of his life down to date. But the most -interesting item of information to Wayne was June’s announcement that -one of the tomato plants had buds on it, and nothing would do but that -Wayne had to jump up from “table” and rush forth in the twilight and -see for himself. The garden was showing promise by that time, although -nothing was more than a few inches high. - -Wayne was up early the next morning so as to do a half-hour’s gardening -before he left for town. He had long since made the discovery that -eradicating grass from a meadow is not a simple matter of removing -the turf, for the grass was always threatening to choke his seedlings -utterly, and it was only by watching and working that he was able to -keep it down. When he wasn’t weeding he was poking up the dirt with a -pointed stick in lieu of trowel. June called this “coaxin’ ’em,” and -opined that “if they flowers don’ act pretty, Mas’ Wayne, ’twon’ be -no fault o’ yourn!” But it was the tomato plants that interested June -most, and he was forever estimating the crop to be picked later on from -the six rather spindling plants that they had bought at the grocer’s. -He declared that each one ought to yield fifteen “big, red, ripe, juicy -tomatuses,” and that if they consumed only six a day the supply would -provide for them only two weeks. It was June’s firm and oft reiterated -conviction that they should have planted just three times as many! -Tomatoes were a weakness with June. - -But two days later he found something besides the prospective tomato -crop to interest his idle hours. At Wayne’s invitation he met the -latter at the freight house one afternoon and accompanied him out to -the Y. M. C. A. field to watch the doings. But just looking on never -suited June very well and it wasn’t a quarter of an hour before he was -on speaking terms with everyone there. The fellows enjoyed hearing -his soft dialect and did their best to draw him out, punctuating his -remarks with laughter. June was speedily established on the bench, -and from just sitting idly there to presiding over the bats and the -fortunes of the players was but a short step. - -“Jus’ you let me choose you a bat, Mister Cap’n. I goin’ put a conjur -on this yere stick o’ wood, sir, an’ you-all’s goin’ to everlastin’ly -lam that yere ball, yes, sir!” - -As it happened Joe Taylor did “everlastingly lam the ball,” sending -it over left fielder’s head, and June’s reputation as a prophet, as -well as his status as Keeper of the Bats, was firmly established. He -was back again the next day, good-natured and smiling and anxious -to serve, and was welcomed like a long-lost friend. June was never -“fresh,” no matter how many opportunities were presented, nor would he -accept the footing of equality that was offered him. He picked up the -bat hurled aside by the man streaking to first and dropped it neatly in -its place in front of the bench, soon knew which bat each player liked -best and was ready with it, saw that the water pail was kept filled -and, in brief, filled the office of general factotum so well that the -question arose of how they had ever got along without him! - -It was Jim Wheelock who suggested June’s adoption as official club -mascot. “No wonder we don’t win more’n half our games,” drawled Jim. -“We’ve never had a mascot. Here’s our chance, fellows. That darkey -was just created to be a mascot. You can see it written all over him. -Here’s where our luck changes.” - -“We’ll stake him to a uniform,” suggested Joe Taylor, “and take him -over to Ludlow Saturday. Guess we’ll have style if nothing else!” - -June was complacent, even proud. “Fetch along your uniform, Mister -Cap’n,” he said. “Only don’ you put no stripes on it, please, sir.” -When, however, June learned that he was required to take train with -the fellows at two o’clock he was dubious. “Don’ know about that, -gen’lemen. You see, I got a mighty ’portant position at the hotel an’ -I dunno will my boss let me off.” - -“We’ll ask him to, June,” replied Taylor. “He’s a regular baseball fan -himself and never misses a home game, I guess. He won’t kick. You leave -it to us.” - -“Yes, sir, jus’ as you says. I surely would love to ’company you-all. I -reckon Mas’ Wayne won’ have no objection.” - -“Who? Sloan? What’s he got to say about it, June?” demanded Hal -Collins. “He doesn’t own you, does he?” - -“Don’ nobody _own_ me,” replied June, “but Mas’ Wayne he got the -say-so, yes, sir.” - -So Wayne was called into consultation and gave his permission, and -on Saturday, when the team, fourteen strong as to players and half a -hundred strong as to “rooters,” left Medfield they took with them one -Junius Brutus Bartow Tasker radiantly attired in a bran-new suit of -light gray flannel, with a pair of blue stockings and a jaunty cap. -The shirt was a great joy to June, for on the left side was a big blue -“C” surrounding an Indian’s head. Jim Wheelock told him the Indian was -Mr. Chenango, after whom the club was named, and that he had been in -his time a celebrated first baseman with the Susquehannock Club of the -Passamaquoddy League. How much of that June believed I can’t say, but -he certainly was proud of those baseball togs. - -They played the Ludlow Y. M. C. A. that afternoon and were beaten -ingloriously, 14 to 4. The Chenangos relied on their second-best -pitcher, and his work was nearer third-best on that occasion. Wayne -got a chance in the eighth inning, pinch-hitting for Despaigne, who -was never a strong batter, and subsequently going in at third when -a substitute was wanted. Wayne did well enough in the infield but -failed to hit, which was about the way with the others. Hitting was -the Chenangos’ weak point that day. Pitching was another, however, -scarcely less lamentable. As Jim Wheelock said on the way home, it -would have taken eighteen fellows instead of nine to keep Ludlow from -scoring her runs. Jordan, the substitute pitcher, was hit “fast, far, -and frequent,” and the tiredest members of the visiting team were the -outfielders. - -Several good-natured jibes were aimed at June on the return trip, but -June didn’t mind them a bit. “Ain’ no mascot as ever was, gen’lemen, -can change the luck for a team that ain’ hittin’. I done my mascotin’ -all right, but you gen’lemen didn’ give me no kind o’ support!” - -There was one thing about his companions that Wayne admired, and -that was their good nature in defeat. He remembered that when his -school team had returned from that disastrous contest with Athens High -gloom thick enough to be cut with a knife had enveloped them. After -all, playing ball was sport and not business, and why should they be -downhearted over a defeat? Whether they should or not, they certainly -were not. Even Jordan, who had so ignominiously failed in the box, -seemed no whit upset, nor did the rest hold it against him. They had -quite as merry a time of it returning home as they had had going to -Ludlow. - -But it was apparent on Monday that Captain Taylor meant to do better -the next time. Several substitutes were changed over into the first -nine, and Wayne was amongst them. Wayne was bothered because he -couldn’t hit the ball as he was capable of hitting it, but comforted -himself with the assurance that practice would bring back his former -skill. But it didn’t seem to. In the next four practice games he -secured but one clean hit, a two-bagger, and a very doubtful “scratch.” -He confided to June one evening that he was afraid he had forgotten how -to hit. “That fellow Chase isn’t nearly as much of a pitcher as Ned -Calhoun was, and I never had much trouble with Ned, did I?” - -“Mas’ Wayne,” said June, “I done been watchin’ you, sir, an’ I goin’ -to tell you-all jus’ what the trouble is.” - -“I wish you would,” sighed Wayne. “What is it?” - -“You-all’s too anxious. Anxiousness jus’ sticks out all over you when -you goes to bat. Now the nex’ time, Mas’ Wayne, jus’ you go up there -an’ tell you’self you don’ care ’tall if you hits or if you don’ hit. -Jus’ you forget how anxious you is an’ watch that ol’ pill an’ hit it -on the nose. If you does that, sir, you’s goin’ to see it travel, yes, -sir!” - -Wayne thought it over and decided that perhaps June had really found -the trouble. At all events, the advice sounded good and he determined -to try to profit by it. The result wasn’t very encouraging the next -day, but on Friday he had the satisfaction of getting two hard -singles, and after that his return to form was speedy. Neither Chase, -the Chenangos’ best twirler, nor Jordan, who was capable of pitching -very decent ball when at his best, had any further terror for him. He -lambasted them both impartially, much to June’s delight. “What did I -done tell you, Mas’ Wayne?” he demanded as Wayne returned to the bench -after turning his second hit into a run with the aid of Gas Hoffman’s -single and a stolen base. “Ain’ nobody else got them two hits today -yet, sir. Reckon you’s done come into your own again, Mas’ Wayne!” - -They went up against the Athletics, the team that Arthur Pattern had -referred to as “a silk-stocking lot,” the next afternoon and scored a -victory when, with the bases full in the seventh, Larry Colton banged -a two-bagger down the alley into right. The three resulting runs put -the Chenangos two tallies to the good and there they stayed in spite -of the Athletics’ desperate efforts to score in the eighth and ninth. -It was Wayne who cut off a run in the first of those two innings when -he reached far above his head and brought down what was labelled “two -bases” when it left the bat. A perfect peg to second caught the runner -flat-footed and retired the side. - -That play, together with two singles and a base on balls in four times -at bat, settled Wayne’s right to a position on the team. In fact, he -was already spoken of as the best player in the infield, although to -Wayne it seemed that no amateur could handle himself and the ball as -Victor Despaigne did at shortstop. But Despaigne, while he fielded -almost miraculously, was a more uncertain thrower, and only Jim -Wheelock’s reach--and, possibly, those extra joints of which he had -told--saved him from many errors. - -The regular second baseman was a chap named Tad Stearns. Tad played -his position steadily if not spectacularly, and Captain Taylor was -perfectly satisfied with him. It was Tad who almost invariably took -Hoffman’s throws to the second bag and who was always a stumbling-block -in the way of second-nine fellows seeking to win renown as -base-stealers. When, some three weeks after Wayne’s connection with -the team, Tad fell down an elevator shaft in the carpet factory where -he was employed as shipping clerk and broke his left arm and otherwise -incapacitated himself for either work or play for some two months -to follow, Taylor was left in a quandary. Tad Stearns’ understudy, -Herrick, was not good enough, and when the news reached the field one -afternoon that Tad was out of the game for the rest of the summer -there was a consultation that included everyone on hand. As frequently -occurred, it was Jim Wheelock who offered the most promising solution. - -“Why don’t you let Sloan go to second,” he asked, “and put Whiteback at -third? You want a good man on second.” - -“That might do,” answered Joe, “if Sloan can play second. Ever try it, -Sloan?” - -“I’ve played second a little,” Wayne answered. “I’ll be glad to try it -again if you like.” - -“Sure,” agreed Hoffman, swinging his mask, “that’s the best way out of -it. Beat it down there, Sloan, and I’ll slip you a few throws. You and -Vic ought to work together finely.” - -“All right,” said Captain Taylor, “we’ll try it that way. Billy White, -you take third, will you? It’s just like Tad to fall down a shaft right -in the middle of the season,” he ended grumblingly. - -“Yes,” said Jim drily, “he never did have any consideration for folks. -Thoughtless, I call him.” - -Joe grinned. “Oh, well, I suppose he didn’t mean to do it,” he -answered. “I must drop around this evening and see how he is. All -right, fellows! Let’s get at it!” - -So that is how Wayne became a second instead of a third baseman. After -two or three days in the position he decided, and all who watched him -in action decided, that second was where he belonged. He took throws -from the plate nicely and developed an almost uncanny ability to -outguess the base-runner, and the way he blocked him off was good to -see. He had to guard against over-throwing to first for a while, for -the distance was strange, but it didn’t take him long to learn to snap -instead of speeding them to Wheelock. The best thing of all, however, -was the way in which he and Vic Despaigne fitted into each other. As -Gas Hoffman had predicted, they worked together nicely and double plays -began to be so frequent as to scarcely merit remark. At third, White -got along very well, although he was scarcely as dependable as Wayne -had been. He got better as the season progressed, however, and by the -first of July the Chenango infield was about as good as they make them -for amateur teams. - -Up to that time the club had played seven games, of which it had won -three, lost three, and tied one. The Fourth of July contest was with -the Toonalta A. A., and, since Toonalta had beaten Joe’s charges -the year before and the year before that, Chenango was very anxious -to score a victory. The game was to be played at Medfield, a fact -calculated to favour the home team, and Joe and most of the others were -quite hopeful. But Joe didn’t allow that to keep him from putting the -nine through some very strenuous practice during the week preceding the -contest. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -MEDFIELD CELEBRATES - - -Medfield began her celebration of the Fourth about twenty-four hours -ahead of time and gradually worked up to a top-notch of noise, -eloquence, and patriotism at approximately one o’clock Tuesday -afternoon, at which hour the observances in City Park were at their -height. Everyone had turned out, in spite of the almost unbearable -heat, and every club or association, from the Grand Army Post to the -Medfield Women’s Civic Association, had marched in the procession that, -headed by a platoon of police and a very stout Grand Marshal seated -precariously on one of Callahan’s livery horses, had, in the words of -the next day’s _Morning Chronicle_, “taken just forty-eight minutes to -pass a given point.” The _Chronicle_ neglected, however, to mention the -fact that the given point to which it referred was the Grand Street -crossing where the procession had been held up quite ten minutes by an -inconsiderate freight train! Still, it was a fine parade, any way you -looked at it. The Fire Department made a glorious showing, the Sons of -Veterans marched well in spite of the small boys who got under their -feet, the High School Cadets displayed quite a martial appearance, and -the various floats, from that of the Women’s Civic Association, which -depicted a somewhat wabbly, Grecian-robed America accepting a liberty -cap from General Washington, down to the clattering, tinkling wagon -hung with tin pans and dippers and plates and dustpans that represented -the Medfield Stamping Works, all added to the brilliance of the -occasion! - -You may be certain that neither Wayne nor June missed that parade. On -the contrary, they viewed it four separate and distinct times, dodging -through side streets as soon as the tail end had passed and reaching a -new point of vantage before the head of it appeared. June was frankly -disappointed in that the Grand Marshal managed somehow to remain in the -saddle until the very end and then left it of his own free will and, -it is suspected, very thankfully. June remained hopeful to the last, -but was doomed to disappointment. He had a wearied, sleepy appearance -today, had June, explained by the fact that he had stayed up all last -night with some of his cronies, doing his best to make the occasion -memorable in the annals of Medfield, assisting at the lighting and -nourishing of the bonfire on Tannery Hill, observing the firing of -the cannon in the park at dawn, and finally returning to “Carhurst” at -breakfast time with the look of one completely surfeited with pleasure. -Wayne had been rather cross at first, but his anger had subsided at -sight of June’s left hand. June, it seemed, had lighted a Roman candle -and, unwisely obeying the instructions of an acquaintance, had held it -by the business end. He hadn’t held it that way long, but long enough -to burn the palm of his hand so badly that he had to wear a bandage for -nearly a week. - -The two boys listened to the speeches and singing at the park, ate a -hurried and fragmentary dinner at a downtown lunch-room, and then hied -themselves to the Y. M. C. A. field. The game with Toonalta was to -begin at half-past two, but owing to the fact that Joe Taylor and Jim -Wheelock and one or two others had spent the noontime swaying about on -top of the Association float and that it took them some time to change -from Historical Personages to baseball players, it was nearly three -when, before an audience that crowded the stand and flowed over on both -sides of the field, Pete Chase wound up and sent the first delivery -speeding across the plate for a strike. - -It was a sizzling hot afternoon, with scarcely a breath of air blowing -across the diamond. The glare on the gray-brown dirt of the base path -hurt the eyes, and Wayne, clad in almost immaculate, new baseball -togs, felt the perspiration trickling down his back and from under -the edge of his cap. Between him and the pitcher’s box heat waves -danced and shimmered. His throwing hand was moist and he wiped it on -a trouser leg. The Chenango infield was talking hearteningly to Chase -and each other, Jim Wheelock’s drawl mingling with Vic Despaigne’s -sharp staccato. There were two umpires that day and Wayne was wondering -how the one on the bases stood the heat in his blue flannel attire, -with his coat buttoned tightly from chin to waist. Chase wasted one -and then put a second strike across. Medfield’s adherents cheered and -the chatter in the field increased again. Then there was a _crack_ and -Chase put up a lazy gloved hand, turned and tossed the ball to Jim. One -out! - -After that, for several innings, Wayne forgot how hot he was. East, the -Toonalta left fielder, also fell victim to Chase’s slants, but Burns, -second baseman, slammed a hard one at Despaigne and that youth made -his first error. Although he recovered his fumble like lightning, the -runner, a fast chap on the dirt, was safe by the time the ball was in -Jim Wheelock’s hands. A single past White sent the runner to second -and placed the rival shortstop on first, but the trouble ended a few -minutes later when Pete Chase scored his third strike-out in one inning. - -Joe Taylor had rearranged his line-up for today’s battle. Hal Collins, -left fielder, led off and was followed by Wheelock, first baseman, -Taylor, right fielder, Colton, centre fielder, White, third baseman, -Hoffman, catcher, Sloan, second baseman, Despaigne, shortstop, and -Chase, pitcher. - -The Toonalta pitcher, Ellis by name, was heralded as a wonder, and -before the game started the team was undeniably in awe of him. But by -the time the first inning was at an end the awe had disappeared. Nor -did it return, for only one strike-out did Ellis have to his credit -when the contest was over, and that the game went as it did was due -rather to the Toonalta fielding than to the twirler’s science. It was a -hitting game from first to last, a game in which slip-ups in fielding -by either side would have spelled disaster at any moment. As for -strike-outs, after the first inning Chase hung up but two more scalps, -giving him, however, a creditable total of five for the game. - -It was Hal Collins who took the first jab at Ellis’ reputation as a -pitcher. Hal failed to hit safely, but his fly to deep centre on the -second ball pitched might easily have gone for three bags, and the -fielder’s catch, made on the run, brought a salvo of applause from -friend and foe alike. Jim Wheelock, with the score two-and-two, sent a -sharp single down the first base line. Joe Taylor tried hard to land -safely but only succeeded in dropping an easy one into shortstop’s -glove and Colton brought the inning to an end by banging a low fly to -right fielder. Jim never got beyond first, but as every man up had -connected in some fashion with Ellis’ delivery the home team’s respect -for his skill fell to zero. - -In Toonalta’s second things began to happen at once. The brown-stockinged -first baseman hit between Wayne and Jim Wheelock for a base and only a -fine stop and throw by Joe Taylor kept him from taking second. The next -man hit to Wayne, and Wayne fielded to Despaigne, cutting off the first -runner by a yard. There was, though, no chance for a double. With one -on, Browne, Toonalta’s right fielder, let Chase work two strikes across -before he found anything to his liking. Perhaps Chase held him too -lightly. At all events the fourth offering was a perfectly straight, -fast ball and the batsman leaned against it hard, so hard that the -sphere cleared Chase’s head at a speed roughly estimated at a mile a -minute, climbed up out of Wayne’s reach, and kept right on going. And -when it finally did come to earth no one saw it, for it landed somewhere -beyond the fence at the far end of the field! The handful of Toonalta -“rooters” stood up and shouted themselves hoarse and blared through red, -white, and blue megaphones and waved anything they could lay their hands -on, while a deep and all-pervading silence rested over the Medfield -forces. Two runs came across and things looked rather blue for the home -team, or perhaps I should say brown, since brown was the Toonalta -colour. - -The discredited Ellis fouled out to Gas Hoffman and the head of the -visitors’ list was thrown out, Despaigne to Wheelock, and the trouble -was over for the moment. For Chenango, Billy White led off with a -safety to left and went to second a minute later when first baseman let -Ellis’ throw go past him. Hoffman hit to Ellis, the pitcher spearing -the ball with his gloved hand and holding White at second. Wayne -produced the third safety of the game by trickling a slow one down the -first base line, sending White to third and putting himself on first. -Despaigne hit to second baseman and the latter hurled to the plate, -getting Billy White. Wayne took second and Despaigne was safe at first. -Chase worried Ellis for a pass and the bases were full. Medfield howled -gleefully as Hal Collins stepped to the plate, for a hit would tie up -the game. But there were two down and Ellis tightened up, and, with two -balls and one strike on him, Collins bit at a bad one and it came down -into third baseman’s waiting hands just over the foul line. - -But that inning encouraged the Chenangos, for, as Joe Taylor said -confidently, if they kept on hitting Ellis as they had been hitting him -something was sure to break lose sooner or later. June, presiding at -the bats and lording it a bit in his fine uniform, predicted ruin and -desolation for the enemy in the fifth inning. “Ain’ nothin’ goin’ to -happen till then,” he declared, looking wise and rolling his eyes, “but -when it do happen it’s goin’ to happen, yes, sir! You min’ my words, -gen’lemen!” June wasn’t far wrong, either, as things turned out, for -nothing did happen until the fifth and even if that inning didn’t prove -quite as disastrous to the enemy as he had predicted, why, perhaps, -that wasn’t his fault. - -Four men faced Chase in the third, the first getting a scratch hit, -the second sacrificing him to the next bag and the other two proving -easy outs. In the home team’s half, Jim Wheelock flied out to centre -fielder, Joe Taylor to first baseman--it was a hot liner, but the -chap held onto it--and Colton went out third to first. In the fourth, -Toonalta started out with a walk, followed with a sacrifice hit, a fly -to Collins in left field, another pass and still another one--three -for the inning. Then Jordan was warming up over behind third and the -infield was begging Chase to take his time and stop fooling, and, -with bases filled, half a hundred seemingly insane spectators yelling -like wild Indians, Gas Hoffman looking pretty set about the mouth and -Pete Chase plainly slipping, hit a long fly to Collins and so ended -as nerve-racking a quarter of an hour as the contest provided! When -that ball settled into Hal Collins’ hands the shout that went up must -certainly have been heard at the corner of Main and Whitney Streets, -which is equivalent to saying a mile and a half away! Anyone who has -played through that sort of a half-inning knows the vast and blessed -relief that comes when the end arrives and the men on bases turn, -grumbling, away and the team trots triumphantly in. They pounded each -other’s backs and slapped Chase on the shoulder and shook hands with -him quite as though he had not himself caused all the anxiety and -suspense. June’s face was one big, white-toothed grin! - -“That’s their last chance!” proclaimed Captain Taylor. “They’ll never -get another one like it. Now, then, fellows, let’s go in and cop this -game right now!” - -But they didn’t. Billy White hit a weak one to Ellis and was out by a -mile. Hoffman popped up a mean little foul to the catcher and Wayne, -hitting safely to short left, obeyed instructions and tried to stretch -the hit to two bases and was caught a foot off by a fine throw from -left fielder. - -Again Toonalta secured a hit, her fifth, after one man was gone -in the first half of the next inning. It was Gore, shortstop, who -performed the feat, and it was Gore who gave as pretty an exhibition -of base-stealing as one ever sees. He stole second when the Toonalta -catcher struck out and blocked Hoffman’s throw and then stole third a -moment later. Gas got the ball to White as quick as he could, but Gore -was already sliding his cleats against the bag. Even Medfield cheered -that exploit, realising the next instant that, even with two down, -everything predicted another tally for the enemy. But once more Fortune -favoured the Blues. Or perhaps the credit should go to Pete Chase. At -least, Wayne didn’t deserve much of it, for the ball that came at him -was breast-high and he didn’t have to move from his tracks to take it. -Anyhow, it ended another anxious moment, and the Chenangos again went -to bat. - -This was the last of the fifth, Toonalta was still two runs to the -home team’s none and it was surely time to do something in the way -of scoring if anything was to be done. When the other crowd is two -runs to the good, and the game is just half over, you begin to count -innings! Despaigne started out poorly enough, trickling a bunt to third -and being thrown out easily. Chase did no better, being retired by -second baseman to first. The home team’s hopes dwindled again and its -supporters, human-like, began to grumble and make pessimistic remarks. -But Hal Collins was hopefully applauded, nevertheless, when he stepped -to the plate, looking, as it seemed, a little more determined than -usual in spite of the smile that curled his lips. The smile was the -result of June’s earnest plea to “Please, sir, Mister Collins, r’ar up -an’ bust it!” - -Pitcher Ellis, with two gone, took Collins untroubledly. He tried to -sneak the first one across for a strike, to be sure, failing narrowly, -but after that he sent in two wide ones, and Hal would have had three -balls to his credit had he not, for some reason, swung at the third -delivery, missed it widely and made the score one-and-two. Ellis tried -a drop then; Collins had fallen for it before; but it went unheeded -and put him in the hole. There was nothing to do then but let Collins -hit--or pass him--and Ellis wasn’t issuing many passes today. The next -delivery was high and over the plate, and Collins fouled it into the -stand. The next was lower and might have gone for a ball had not the -batsman swung at it, met it fairly on the end of his bat, and sent it -travelling down the field just over first baseman’s head and hardly -more than a yard inside the foul line. It was good for two bases and -Medfield cheered wildly. - -“Bring him in, Jim!” cried the Blue team as the Chenango first baseman -accepted the bats that June proffered and strode to the plate, and -“Here we go!” shouted a strong-voiced spectator. “Here we go! Hi! Hi! -Hi! Hi! Hi!” A hundred others took up his chant and beat time to it -with feet on planking or with clapping hands. Whether the pandemonium -had its effect on Pitcher Ellis or not, certain it is that his first -delivery was grooved if ever ball was grooved, and equally certain is -it that Jim Wheelock drove it straight past the pitcher and out of the -infield and that Hal Collins tore around from second, touched third -with flying feet and slid into the plate well ahead of the ball! - -“There’s one of ’em!” shrieked Hoffman. “Let’s have another, Cap! Hit -it out! Bust it!” - -Joe Taylor tried his best to bring Jim in from second, but failed, -finally flying out to centre field and ending the rally. - -Still one to two was better than two to nothing, and the home team -trotted hopefully out to their places for the beginning of the sixth. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -WAYNE BEATS OUT THE BALL - - -Rider, the Browns’ third sack artist, waited out two offerings and then -slammed the next down the base line to Billy White. Billy was having a -bad day, and, although he knocked the ball down, he couldn’t heave it -to Jim in time to get his man, and another black mark was set against -Billy’s fair fame. This poor beginning was speedily remedied, though, -when the Toonalta right fielder hit to Despaigne, and Vic, performing -one of his circus stunts, grabbed the ball as it bounded past him well -to the right and tossed it to Wayne as the latter sped to the bag. -Still going, Wayne half turned and chucked underhand to Jim, completing -as pretty a double play as one would wish to see. Medfield voiced -delight and approval and relief very loudly and very long while Ellis -walked to the plate and faced Chase, grimly determined to get a hit. -But Chase knew his opponent’s weakness and toyed with him until the -score stood two strikes and one ball. Then, however, Ellis managed to -connect with the next delivery and send it high into the air behind -first base. For a long moment it looked safe, but Wayne got under it -after a hard run and squeezed it. - -For the Chenangos, Colton flied out to shortstop, Billy White hit to -second and was out on a close decision that brought a howl of protest -from the blue nine’s supporters and Hoffman made his first--and -last--hit, a bounder over shortstop’s head. Wayne went up with the -encouraging applause of the Medfield supporters in his ears and faced -Ellis calmly. He had been twice up and had two hits to his credit, and -he meant to keep his score perfect. But he was reckoning without Fate, -for after Ellis had pitched a wide one on the supposition that Hoffman -would steal on the first ball, and then had sneaked a low strike -across--low ones constituted Wayne’s batting weakness, and he knew -the fact and meant to profit by the knowledge--the hit-and-run signal -came, Wayne swung at a high one on the inside, missed it and watched -the ball hurtle down to shortstop and saw Gas put out at second. Wayne -disappointedly tossed his bat to June and went back to the field. - -Toonalta started the seventh with the head of her batting-list up. -This was Brook, her centre fielder, a player with some reputation for -getting to first and for moving along afterward. So far, though, he -had not lived up to that reputation, since in three times at the plate -he had reached the initial sack but one, that being when Chase had -passed him in the nerve-racking fourth. He was due now, as it proved, -to sweeten his average, and at the expense of Billy White, for when -he swung at Chase’s second delivery and slammed it straight at Billy -the latter made his second error of the game. The ball went through -him, and had Brook taken advantage of his chance he might easily have -reached second. As it was, though, he hesitated at first and Collins, -who had come in fast on the ball, pegged promptly to Wayne and Brook -was forced to scuttle back to safety. - -East laid down a sacrifice bunt and retired, but, with only one man -gone and the speedy Brook on second, Toonalta’s chance to pull the game -up high and dry looked bright. But when Burns had hit to Jim Wheelock -and Jim had trotted across the bag and then held Brook at third the -visitors’ stock sank again. Gore ended the suspense by sending a high -one to Hal Collins. - -Wayne was requested to “start it up” when he went to the plate for -the last of the inning, and the audience loudly reminded him that -this was the lucky seventh! But it wasn’t lucky for Wayne, since, in -spite of his resolve to bat for a clean thousand, his attempt at -a hit was only a roller to Ellis and he was out before he had gone -half-way to first. Vic Despaigne fell victim to Ellis’ skill, yielding -the Toonalta pitcher his first and only strike-out of the game, and -Chase, after nine deliveries, four of which were fouls, found something -to his liking and whanged it into right field. It was a long one and -might easily have put him on third, but the redoubtable Browne, he of -the home-run fame, raced back to the corner of the field and made a -one-hand catch that moved even the enemy to wild acclaim. - -The eighth began with the Toonalta’s fifth batter facing Chase, but -by the time it had ended five others had toed the rubber. That inning -rivalled the fourth for hair-raising suspense. Hunt, the Toonalta -catcher, began the trouble by hitting safely between Jim Wheelock -and Wayne for one. The subsequent batsman was an easy out, popping -a fly to Chase. Rider outwaited the pitcher and finally got a pass, -advancing Hunt to second. With two on bases and the hard-hitting Browne -coming up, the Blues’ chances might have been bought for a penny. -To make things look more desperate, it was apparent that Pete Chase -was weakening. Jordan was hurried out of his sweater and sent off to -warm up and Hoffman and Chase met midway between plate and mound and -conversed earnestly while the Toonalta “rooters” howled jeers and -polite insults. - -“Play ball! Quit stalling!” “It’s got to happen! Get through with it!” -“Good-night!” “He’s all in! Take him out! Take him out!” “Let him stay! -We like him!” “Make ’em play ball, Mr. Umpire!” - -Chase was for passing Browne, but Hoffman wouldn’t consent. “Feed him -high ones, Pete,” he muttered, “and cut the corners, but, for the love -of Mike, don’t groove any!” - -Chase nodded none too confidently and went back to his place and Browne -swung an eager bat above his shoulder. Possibly eagerness was Browne’s -undoing, for he bit at the first one, which was almost shoulder high -and far wide of the plate, but he only smiled when Gas asked him if -he was practising and Medfield yelled its delight. The next offering -was a ball that sent the batsman staggering back from the plate and -brought hisses and cries of “He’s trying to hit him!” from the Toonalta -bench. Gas, though, knew that Chase wasn’t trying anything of the -sort, that the explanation was far simpler, that, in fact, Chase was -rapidly pitching himself out and losing control. But he only spoke more -confidently than ever. - -“Let him live, Pete! There aren’t any cigars in this game!” - -Browne scowled. “If he beans me the first thing you know’ll be a bat -alongside your head, Fresh!” - -“I should worry,” answered Gas pleasantly, dropping to his knee to -signal. “Come on, Pete! Make it good, old man! Don’t waste ’em on him!” - -Pete did waste one, though, for the ball passed wide of the plate. -Browne laughed. “Got you scared, haven’t I?” he jeered. - -“Scared blue,” replied Gas. “Watch your head this time.” - -But the next one came with a hook and looked good and Browne let go -at it. It wasn’t labelled “Home Run,” though, this time, for it went -straight to Vic Despaigne, back of the goal path, and Vic took it -neatly on the bound, studied the situation, and heaved to White. Hunt -was two yards from the bag when the ball reached third base, and, -although he made a clever slide, he should have been out. But, as -before stated, this was not Billy’s day, and Hard Luck was still after -him. Perhaps the throw was a trifle low, but Billy should have held it, -nevertheless. But he didn’t, and while he was searching for it around -his feet Hunt slid to safety, the bases were filled, and Toonalta was -crazed with joy. - -Chase started badly with Ellis and put himself two in the hole at -once. At third, Hunt was taking long leads and doing his utmost, ably -assisted by the coacher there, to rattle the Blues’ pitcher, and it -looked very much as though he was succeeding until Chase suddenly -turned the tables on him by a quick peg to White, who had crept -close to the bag unobserved. Caught two yards off, Hunt did the only -possible thing and dug for the plate. But the ball was ahead of him -and he doubled back again. Chase and Despaigne took a hand in the -contest and in the end Hunt, making a despairing slide for the rubber, -was ignominiously retired. Rider and Browne reached third and second -respectively during the excitement, but, with two gone, the situation -looked far brighter. - -Chase settled down to recover lost ground with Ellis and managed to -get a strike across. But his next attempt failed and the score was -one-and-three. Hoffman signalled for a straight one and held his big -hands wide apart. “Put it over, Pete! Let him hit it!” he cried. And -Pete earnestly endeavoured to oblige and failed miserably, and the -umpire waved the Toonalta pitcher to first! - -Bases full again, two down and the head of the list coming to bat! -Now if ever, it seemed, Chase should be derricked and the falling -fortunes of the Chenangos entrusted to Jordan. The spectators demanded -the change loudly, even rudely, but Joe Taylor, out in right field, -was deaf to the inquiring looks sent him and made no sign. Even Chase -showed a desire to quit; while, over behind third, Jordan was awaiting -the summons. But the summons didn’t come, then or later, and Pete -Chase, looking a bit bewildered, philosophically took up his task again -and turned his attention to Brook. - -Now, Brook, in spite of his reputation, had so far failed to get a hit, -and, as Joe explained later, it was on this that the latter based his -calculations. Brook would, he thought, be so anxious to deliver that -he would very probably fail altogether. Five times out of ten it is -questionable policy to put a new pitcher in when bases are full and any -sort of a hit means runs. As often as not such a procedure proves to be -jumping from frying pan to fire. Had Toonalta chosen to substitute a -pinch-hitter for Brook, Joe was ready to switch pitchers, but failing -that he decided to trust to Chase and, more especially, perhaps, -Hoffman. Whether Captain Taylor’s reasoning was good or bad, in the -abstract, on this occasion it was vindicated. With one strike and two -balls on him, Brook was offered one that was just above his knees and -square over the base, and he went for it. And so did Hal Collins, and -caught it almost in the shadow of left field fence, and another tragedy -was averted! - -In their half of the eighth, the Chenangos went out in one, two, three, -order, Collins flying to centre, Wheelock fouling to third, and Taylor -being thrown out at first. In the ninth, Toonalta tried very hard -to add to her score, but, when the first batsman was retired on an -easy toss from Chase to Jim, she lost some of her ginger. Even Billy -White’s fourth error, which put Burns on first and seemed to pave the -way for a tally, failed to arouse the visitors to much enthusiasm. -Probably they thought they could hold their opponents scoreless for -another half-inning and were satisfied to call it a day. Gore, however, -woke them up when he hit cleanly past Despaigne and advanced Burns to -the second station, and the Browns’ coaches got busy again and once -more things looked dark for the home nine. But Hunt fouled out to -Hoffman--and the big catcher’s expression as he looked at the rival -backstop was beautiful to see if you were a Chenango sympathiser!--and -the Blues’ first baseman, who had played a star game all the afternoon, -ended his services at the bat, and incidentally the inning, by fanning. -Chase received an ovation for that strike-out as he returned to the -bench, and he deserved it. - -Toonalta jogged into the field with a fine confidence, or an appearance -of it. She had only to keep the adversary from crossing the plate -to win, and since the fifth inning the Chenangos had failed to show -anything dangerous. Perhaps the home team itself was more than doubtful -of its ability to pluck that contest from the fire, although certainly -Joe Taylor showed no sign of dejection. Joe insisted loudly and -cheerfully that now was the appointed time, although he didn’t use just -those words. What he really said was: “Now come on, Chenangos! Get at -’em! Eat ’em up! Here’s where we start something! Hit it out, Larry! -Let’s get this right now!” - -But Colton was a disappointment, for he only rolled one to the -pitcher’s box when he tried to bunt down first base line and was out -in his tracks. Billy White was called back once to make place for -Brewster, but even as the pinch-hitter strode to the box Taylor changed -his mind again and it was finally the unlucky Billy who stood up at -the plate. Just how Billy managed to outguess Ellis was a mystery, but -outguess him he did, and presently he was trotting down the path to -first base while Vic Despaigne tried to stand on his head and every -other Medfield adherent made a joyful noise! - -[Illustration: Every Other Medfield Adherent Made a Joyful Noise] - -Joy, however, gave place to gloom a few minutes later when Hoffman, -after almost securing a two-bagger--the ball only went foul by two -inches--sent a hot one straight into third baseman’s glove. As the ball -went back to the pitcher the audience started its exodus, for with two -down and the runner no further than first, the end was discernible--or -so they thought. But what followed only proved again the famous adage -that the game isn’t over until the last man’s out. - -Wayne got his bat from an anxious-faced June, a June too downhearted to -even put a “conjur” on it, listened to Taylor’s instructions to “just -meet it, Sloan, and try for the hole between first and second,” and -took his place in the trampled dust of the box. Ellis was cautious and -deliberate and was putting everything he had on the ball. Wayne let the -first one go by and was sorry for it, since it cut the outer corner of -the plate and went for a strike. Then Ellis tried him on a wide one, -waist-high, and followed it with a second strike, a drop that fooled -the batsman completely. Ellis attempted to sneak one over close in, -but overdid it and the score was two-and-two, and Wayne realised that -a whole lot depended on his judgment of the next offering. Possibly -Ellis meant to fool Wayne with a change of pace, for what came next -was a slow one that looked tempting. Wayne yielded to the temptation. -Then he flung his bat aside and was streaking to first amidst the -triumphant shouts of the spectators. At first, Taylor waved him on, -and Wayne circled and dug out for second. Centre and left fielder -were on the ball together and left fielder made the throw in, but it -arrived only when Wayne was stretched in the dust with one toe on the -bag. On third, Billy White was listening to excited instructions from -Hoffman, while, from the sides of the field, came pæans of delight. -Those spectators who had wandered from their seats or points of vantage -fought their way back again, crowding and pushing and questioning. Joe -Taylor was sending in Brewster for Despaigne, and Hunt, the Toonalta -catcher, in spite of his confident reassurances to Ellis, looked -disquieted. - -On second, Wayne, mechanically slapping the dust from his new togs, -hoped hard for a hit. He knew nothing of Brewster’s batting prowess -and wished with all his heart that Hal Collins or Jim Wheelock was -up. A hit would bring him in from second, with White ahead of him, -and win the game. Then he was off the base, watching the shortstop -from the corner of his eye, listening for warnings from the coach at -first, ready to speed ahead or dodge back. But, with an eager runner -on third, Ellis was taking no chances. Nor was Hunt. Once the catcher -bluffed a throw-down, but the ball only went to the pitcher, and -neither White nor Wayne was fooled. - -Brewster looked nervous, but he didn’t act so. He judged the first -offering correctly and let it go, started to swing at the next, changed -his mind, and heard it called a strike and held back from the third, -which dropped at the bag and almost got away from Hunt. The shouting -of spectators and coaches was having its effect on Ellis at last. A -third ball followed. The uproar increased. Even the base-runners added -their voices to the pandemonium of sound. Ellis fumbled his cap, looked -around the field, rubbed a perspiring hand in the dust, took the signal -very deliberately, although it could mean but one thing unless Hunt had -decided to pass the batsman, wound up slowly, and pitched. - -Perhaps it would have been the part of wisdom to have walked Brewster, -under the circumstances, but Toonalta chose otherwise and so things -happened as they did. The ball, fast and straight, went to the plate -like a shot from a gun, but Brewster was ready for it. A fine, -heartening crack sounded over the diamond, the ball sailed off toward -left field, Billy White sprang into his stride and Wayne lit out for -third. Left fielder came in on the run, got the ball on the first long -bounce, set himself quickly, and plugged it home. It was a good throw -and it reached Hunt only one stride from the plate. But that one stride -was sufficient to bring victory to the Blues and defeat to the Browns, -for when Hunt fell to his knee and swept the ball downward Wayne was -stretched on his back with one scuffed, dust-covered shoe fairly on the -rubber! - -After that, confusion, cheering, a grinning, white-toothed June pulling -Wayne to his feet, an influx of shouting, happy Medfieldians, amongst -them Arthur Pattern, and hands thumping Wayne on the back as he pushed -his way toward the bench. He was breathless, dusty, and tired, as he -added his feeble voice to the cheer for the defeated rival, but he was -terrifically happy at the same time. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -“A GENTLEMAN TO SEE MR. SLOAN” - - -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 -but didn’t last long, and when it was over an impromptu reception took -place in the big lounging-room and everyone flocked around and said -nice things about the team and the game was played over again several -times. It was difficult to decide who the real hero of the contest -was, since so many had performed. Pete Chase came in for a good share -of praise; for five strike-outs, three assists, and no errors was -considered a fine record against as strong a team as the Toonaltas. -The five passes that he had issued were easily pardoned since none had -resulted in a score. In hitting, Toonalta stood seven for a total of -ten bases and Chenango nine for a total of eleven. - -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 winning run. In the batting line Jim Wheelock was his nearest -competitor, Jim having two hits to his credit. In fielding Wayne had no -competitor that day. Many kind things were said about him, and Arthur -Pattern’s prediction that Wayne would make himself heard some day as -a baseman was concurred in by all. Perhaps the Chenangos and their -admirers were a bit too lavish with their praise that evening, but -they felt exceptionally good over the victory and may be pardoned for -indulging in what our English cousins would call “swank.” - -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 too busy speculating as to the man’s -errand, reflecting, as he crossed to meet him, that the letter to his -stepfather had reached him well over a week ago, allowing plenty of -time for him to set the law on his track. But the visitor didn’t quite -look the part of Authority, for he had a genial smile and a ready -expression of polite apology. - -“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 right now. I’d make a hit, wouldn’t I, chasing -around the gravel? No, I haven’t played for six years. I’m interested -in the Badgers now. Own a little stock and do a bit of scouting for -’em.” - -“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 me has been pals for -a long time, and his daughter was married last night and I came over -for the shindig. Today him and me went out and saw you fellows play -ball. And, say, we saw a good game, too. I don’t mean it was so blamed -scientific--those Toonalta guys made a lot of fool moves: they ought to -have sewn that game up in the eighth--but it was fast and interesting. -Well, I was just passing the time, you understand, Mr. Sloan. Wasn’t -looking for any finds or nothing. Just enjoying a day off. Get me? But -’long about the fourth inning I began to sit up and take notice of the -fellow playing second for the Medfield bunch. ‘He ain’t so poor,’ says -I. ‘He’s got a nice way of handling himself, he has, and he sure can -biff the ball. Course, he needs training, but it looks to me like he -had the goods.’ Well, I watched him close and I saw him dip in on a -nice double play and push the pellet around for three hits, one of ’em -a clean two-bagger, an’ I says to myself, ‘Chris, why don’t you look -the young gentleman up and have a talk with him?’ I says, ‘Maybe he’d -think well of a chance to get in good company and learn how to play -real ball.’ So I inquired around and found you hung out up here a good -deal and here I am.” Mr. Farrel smiled jovially, produced a cigar from -a pocket, viewed it and replaced it with a sigh. - -“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. It’s only a two-hour run on the -train. How does that strike you?” - -“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,’ I says. ‘He’ll talk -salary with you when you’ve shown him what you can do.’ More than that -I ain’t got the right to say, Mr. Sloan. But we pay good salaries as -salaries go on the minors, and, what’s more, we _pay_ ’em! You don’t -get promises and an order on the grocer. Old John K. is right there -every month with the coin. He don’t waste his money, John K. don’t, but -he pays his bills. Now what do you say, Mr. Sloan?” - -“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 whispered caution, and so, after a minute’s -deliberation, he said: “I’ll think it over, Mr. Farrel, and let you -know tomorrow if you’ll tell me where I can find you.” - -“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. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -PATTERN GIVES ADVICE - - -Wayne wanted advice, and it was to Arthur Pattern that he went. A -quarter of an hour after Mr. Farrel’s departure Wayne and Arthur were -sitting on the steps of the State National Bank talking it over. Now -and then the sound of exploding fireworks sounded and occasionally the -sparks of a distant rocket lighted the sky beyond the roofs or red, -white, and blue stars floated high against the purple darkness of the -night, but the celebration was nearly over and the main street was -nearly deserted. - -“I remember Chris Farrel,” Arthur Pattern was saying. “That is, I -remember reading about him. He used to be a crackajack catcher some -years ago. Played for a long time with one of the western clubs; -Cincinnati, I think. Then he was with Washington and left them to -manage some team like the Baltimores. Don’t think it was Baltimore, -though. I don’t know much about this Harrisville outfit, but the -Tri-State League’s been going for a good many years. It’s a six-club -league. Harrisville and Doncaster in this state, Paterson and Trenton -in New Jersey, and Utica and some other place in New York State.” - -“Damascus, I think he said.” - -“Yes, Damascus. Some of those are good baseball towns, and they ought -to make money. Still, I don’t suppose they do much better than split -even after expenses are paid. Saturdays and holidays are about the -only times they draw big attendances, they charge about half what the -big leagues charge for admission, and players’ salaries, travelling -expenses, and so on count up fast. Men like this Mr. Badger own ball -teams more for amusement than anything else, I guess. Some of them go -in for steam yachts, some for trotting horses, and some for ball teams. -I guess they net about the same on the investment,” ended Arthur drily. - -“Then you think this Harrisville team isn’t very good?” asked Wayne. - -“Better than some, not so good as others. If you’re going in for -professional baseball playing, Wayne, you’ve got to get experience, and -one team’s about the same as another, so long as you get your salary. -You can’t afford to choose and pick, I guess, because it isn’t easy for -a youngster like you to get a try-out. If a chance comes to you, grab -it. After all, it doesn’t make much difference where you start. If -you’re any good you won’t stay long in the bushes. The main question -is: Do you want to be a ball player?” - -Wayne considered in silence for a long minute. Then: “Well, it’s like -this, Arthur,” he answered slowly. “I wouldn’t want to play ball all -my life. It isn’t good enough. But there isn’t much I can do--yet. It -isn’t as though I’d been trained for something, like engineering or -keeping books or--or farming. I’m not good for anything at all--yet. -The only thing I can do half-way well is play baseball. So it seems to -me that it’s a sensible thing for me to play ball and make some money -so that I can learn to do something better. If I made some money in the -summer I could go to school or college in the winter, couldn’t I?” - -“Yes, you could. What would you like to be?” - -“Well,” answered the other, smiling, “I used to think I wanted to be -a locomotive engineer, but I reckon now I’d rather be a veterinary -surgeon.” - -“What!” exclaimed Arthur. “A horse doctor?” - -Wayne nodded untroubledly. “Yes, that’s what they call them in the -country,” he replied, “just as they call the doctor a ‘sawbones.’ Don’t -you think curing sick animals is just as fine a profession as curing -sick people?” - -“Hm. Do you?” - -“Finer. Seems to me it takes more skill. A person who is ill can help -the doctor, you see, by telling him where the trouble lies, but an -animal can’t. The doctor has got to depend on his knowledge altogether, -hasn’t he?” - -“I suppose so. Still, up where I live we don’t class the vets and the -physicians together, I’m afraid. The vets are generally rather ignorant -old chaps, I guess. I remember hearing my father say once when I was a -kid that old Nancy, the carriage horse, was dying and that he guessed -it was time to call in the vet and let him have the credit for it.” - -“Did she die?” asked Wayne. - -Arthur thought a minute. Then: “By Jove, I don’t believe she did that -time!” he laughed. “Perhaps old What’s-his-name was some good, after -all!” - -“Doctor Kearny--he’s the veterinarian at home--says that the profession -is making faster strides nowadays than any other,” said Wayne. “He says -the day is past when the man who can’t make a living any other way can -become a dentist or a veterinary surgeon. He says treating horses and -cows and dogs and things is a heap harder than giving pills to persons. -I’d rather cure a horse or a dog any day than a human being.” - -“It might depend on the human being, mightn’t it?” laughed the other. -“Well, all right, old man, you be a vet if you want to. Perhaps it is -a good deal finer trade than I’d thought. Anyway, what we’ve got to -decide is whether you’re to join the Badgers, isn’t it?” - -“Yes. I wish he’d given me some idea what the salary would be. What do -you think, Arthur?” - -“Well, I wouldn’t look for more than a hundred a month at first. You -see, Wayne, you aren’t anything remarkable yet. You don’t mind my -talking plain? This man Farrel is banking on you learning the game and -turning out well in a couple of years. He thinks that if they can get -hold of you now and sign you up at a small salary it’ll pay them to do -it on the chance that you’ll be of real use later. I dare say there -are lots of chaps who play just about the same sort of game that you -do right now. Personally, I think you’ll make good. You sort of--sort -of--well, I don’t just know how to say it, but you sort of _look_ good. -There’s a certainty in the way you handle the ball and the way you -handle yourself that’s promising. I guess it struck Farrel the same -way. If he was sure he could come around two years from now and find -you he wouldn’t have made a sound today, but he isn’t. He’s afraid that -someone else will discover you and grab you. But don’t get it into -your head that you’re a marvel, Wayne, because you aren’t. Not yet. If -you do go over to Harrisville, old man, talk small and don’t let your -hat hurt you.” - -“I won’t. I don’t think this has swelled my head any. What I’m afraid -of is that this manager man won’t like me when he sees me.” - -“That’s possible, too. Better not hope too much. I dare say Farrel -sends a lot of fellows over there who just turn around and go home -again. But his offering to stake you to your fares looks as if he was -pretty fairly certain in your case.” - -“Oh, I wouldn’t take that money,” said Wayne earnestly. - -“You will if you go. I’ll see that you do. It’s a business proposition, -Wayne. Farrel’s paying you ten dollars for an option on you. If he -takes you he gets his option money back. You mustn’t think, though, -that being a minor league ball player is all roses. It’s no picnic. -You’ll have to practice every morning, whether you get on or not, -you’ll have to beat it around the country for weeks at a time, sleeping -on the train or in punk hotels, you’ll get bawled out when you pull a -boner and no one will say ‘Thank you’ when you make a star play: no -one but the ‘fans,’ and they’ll be the first to hoot you the next day -if you make one miscue. You’ll run up against some rough ones on the -team who will probably make life a perfect misery for you at first, and -you’ll get the short end of a lot of decisions until the umpires see -that you are real. I don’t want you to think that minor league ball -playing is all bread and treacle, Wayne.” - -“Maybe it’ll be hard,” was the response, “but any work is hard, isn’t -it? And I’d rather do something hard that I like to do than something -easy that I don’t. And I do like to play ball, Arthur. Besides, a -hundred dollars a month is real money to me. If I stayed on the team -three months I’d have three hundred dollars!” - -“Not quite, because you have to live meanwhile. Remember that the club -only pays your bills while you’re travelling, and you’re travelling -only about half the time.” - -“It wouldn’t cost me much, though, to live in Harrisville, would it? I -reckon I could find a boarding-house pretty reasonable.” - -“I guess so. It’s a pretty big town. Look here, Wayne, suppose I go -around there with you tomorrow and have a talk with Farrel. Maybe I -could get him to promise something definite. Want me to?” - -“I wish you would,” said Wayne gratefully. “That is, if I decide to -try it. I’m going to think it over tonight.” - -“Well, you want to start thinking pretty soon,” laughed Arthur, yawning -as he arose, “because it’s nearly eleven now and there isn’t much night -left for us slaves. You call me up at the office in the morning and let -me know. Then I’ll take my lunch hour at eleven-thirty and we’ll go -around to the hotel together. Good-night, Wayne.” - -It was close on midnight when Wayne left the railroad track and started -across the meadow through the lush grass toward the dim orange glow -from the windows and open door of the car. It suddenly came to him that -he would be sorry to leave this queer retreat of theirs, for it had -been more like a real home than any he had known for several years. -And, with a genuine pang, he remembered the garden he had planted. -He would never see the flowers blossom, never see the little green -pellet, which had mysteriously appeared on one of the tomato plants a -few days ago, grow and ripen! The thought of leaving that garden almost -determined him then and there to think no more of Mr. Farrel’s offer, -but to stay at home with June and be satisfied with his work and the -new friends he had made. - -June was still awake when he approached, and hailed him across the -starlit darkness. And Sam barked shrilly, at first with a challenge -and then, as he scuttled to meet Wayne, with delight. The boy picked -him up and snuggled him in his arms, and the dog licked his cheek with -an eager pink tongue. “He done catch him a terrapin today,” announced -June as Wayne seated himself tiredly on the step. “An’ he jus’ act -disgusting he was so proud.” - -“I reckon the terrapin was just a plain, everyday mud turtle,” laughed -Wayne. “Did you see it?” - -“Yes, sir, he brung it home an’ put it on its back so’s it couldn’t get -away, an’ I ’most trod on it. What’s the diff’ence between a terrapin, -Mas’ Wayne, an’ a mud turkle?” - -“About seventy-five cents, June.” - -“Say there is?” June was silent a minute. Then: “What done ’come o’ you -this evenin’? I was waitin’ an’ waitin’ for you.” - -“I’m sorry, June. I wanted to see Arthur Pattern about something and -we got to talking. I--I’m thinking about leaving here, June.” Then, -sitting there in the star-sprinkled gloom, and fighting mosquitoes, -Wayne told of Mr. Farrel and his proposition and of his talk with -Arthur Pattern; and when he had finished June gave a joyous “Yip!” that -startled Sam into barking. - -“Ain’ I always tol’ you, Mas’ Wayne, that you goin’ make you-all’s -fortune up here? Ain’ I?” Wayne couldn’t recall having been told -anything of the sort, but he didn’t say so. “Reckon we’s goin’ to be -mighty ’portant folkses now!” the darkey went on. “How much money he -goin’ to pay you?” - -“I don’t know yet. And I don’t know that I’ll go, June. Maybe Mr. -Farrel isn’t really in earnest. I don’t see how he can be. I can’t play -ball much, June. If I----” - -“Say you can’? Let me tell you, Mas’ Wayne, sir, you plays ball -better’n any of those other gen’lemen, a heap better!” - -“But playing on a real league team is different, June. Suppose this -manager doesn’t like me when I get there?” - -“He’s goin’ to like you! How far is this yere place, Mas’ Wayne?” - -“Harrisville? About eighty miles, I think. It’s a pretty big place, -June, and maybe I wouldn’t like it as well as Medfield. I--I’ve got -sort of fond of this place. If I do go, I want you to look after the -garden, June. If you don’t I’m going to tan your hide for you.” - -“What you mean look after your garden, Mas’ Wayne? Ain’ I goin’ with -you?” - -“Why, I don’t see how you can,” answered Wayne troubledly. “Maybe -after I get ahead a little----” - -“Now look yere, Mas’ Wayne! My mammy done tell me to watch out for you, -ain’ she? How you ’spects I’m goin’ watch out for you if I ain’ with -you? No, sir, Mas’ Wayne, if you goes, I goes, an’ that’s all there is -to it, sir!” - -“Well, we’ll see,” evaded Wayne. “I dare say I’ll be back by the end of -the week, anyway. If I’m not, and you want to come, I’ll send you some -money and you and Sam can follow.” - -“You don’ have to send no money,” said Wayne. “I got me ’most fifty -dollars right now. How much you got, sir?” - -“Not a great deal,” owned Wayne ruefully. “I’ve had to buy so many -things that I’ve been spending it about as fast as I’ve got it, June.” - -“Ain’ boughten anythin’ you ain’ needed, I reckon.” June stepped down -and disappeared around the side of the car and when he came back he -held a tin can in his hand. He rattled it proudly. “Reckon you better -take this along with you,” he said, offering it to Wayne. “Jus’ you -drap it in your pocket right now, sir, so’s you won’ forget it.” - -“Get out! I’m not going to take your money,” answered the other firmly. -“I don’t need it, anyway. I’ve got twelve dollars, pretty near; and -Mr. Farrel is going to pay my fare both ways.” - -“I know that, Mas’ Wayne, but ’twon’ do for you to walk in on them ball -players over to this yere place with no little ol’ picayune twelve -dollars in your pocket, no, sir! You got to put on a heap o’ dog, Mas’ -Wayne, ’cause if you don’t they’s goin’ to think you don’ amoun’ to -nothin’ ’tall. Please, sir, you take it.” - -“No,” said Wayne firmly. “I’m much obliged, June, but I don’t need it. -If they give me the position I’ll have money of my own, you see.” - -“Then you take half of it, Mas’ Wayne,” pleaded June. - -But Wayne was adamant and June had to hide his treasure again, and -after a while they went to bed, June to slumber and Wayne to lie awake -until the sky began to brighten in the east. It was only when the stars -paled that sleep came to him. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -OFF TO HARRISVILLE - - -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 elicit any definite promise of engagement from -the scout, but he had made Mr. Farrel agree to supplement the letter -of introduction which Wayne was to deliver with another, to be posted -then and there, presenting Wayne’s qualifications and advising his -employment. After that Wayne had accepted the ten dollars, shaken hands -with Mr. Farrel, and returned to the freight house to apply to Jim -Mason for a three days’ leave of absence. - -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 return, shook hands with -Jim, feeling a bit guilty and more than half hoping that the manager of -the Harrisville Baseball Club would send him home again, and hurried -off to the train. Arthur Pattern had promised to get down to see him -off if he could do it, but evidently Arthur had had to stay late -this evening. The train was in the open country now, running between -wooded hills on which the long, slanting rays of the setting sun fell -gloriously. He was a little lonesome and wished he had taken Sam with -him. After all, Sam wouldn’t have been much trouble, and he was a heap -of company. And just then the door at the front end of the car opened -and in walked June with a squirming, excited Sam in his arms! - -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 request for tickets and a -demand that the dog be removed to the baggage car, and so the three of -them made their way forward and Sam was once more secured to the handle -of a trunk with a piece of cord and Wayne and June perched themselves -alongside and so finished their journey. June, it seemed, had at no -time entertained any notion of being left behind, but had thrown up his -job at the hotel that morning, staying only long enough to break in one -of his recently made friends, and had then gone back to the car to pack -up. Wayne’s belongings were here in a pasteboard box and June’s tied -up in paper. “I done fasten up the place,” said June, “an’ nail boards -over the windows, an’ I reckon if we-all wants to go back there we’s -goin’ to fin’ things jus’ the same like we left ’em. An’ I done water -them tomatuses an’ everything too, Mas’ Wayne.” - -“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, -with Sam pulling ahead at the end of his improvised leash, they set -forth on exploration bent. That was a most exciting evening, for they -had traversed no more than a half-dozen squares when the lights and -gaudy pictures of a moving-picture theatre brought them to a stop. -June announced his intentions inside of two seconds, and Wayne, after -discovering that a dime would purchase admittance, made no objections. -For the subsequent hour and a half they were as happy as two boys could -be, and when the “Good Night! Come Again” was flashed on the screen and -the audience poured out June was all for seeing the show over again -and had to be literally dragged away, Wayne assuring him that they -could come again tomorrow evening. They saw some of the town then, but -nothing short of a three-alarm fire would have snared their attention -after the things they had witnessed on the screen, and so, being tired -and sleepy, they went back to the little hotel and crawled into the -beds. - -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 at seven, entrusted -Sam to June’s care, and hurried off on foot at about the time the -retail section of the city through which his route lay was beginning to -wake up. The distance was long and Wayne was horribly afraid that Mr. -Milburn would have had his breakfast and be off and about the business -of managing before he got to the hotel. Consequently, he was somewhat -surprised when, on inquiring for the manager, he was told that Mr. -Milburn never saw anyone until after 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 along, -looking into fascinating windows and missing little that went on. At a -quarter to nine he was some distance from the hotel and so he turned -back. But when he had walked as many squares as seemed necessary to -bring him to his destination he failed to discover it. It dawned on him -then that he had been walking at right angles to the street on which -the hotel was situated, and he turned back and hurried along the way he -had come. In the end he had to ask his way of a newsboy. Whether that -young rascal purposely gave him the wrong direction or whether Wayne -misunderstood him, the result was the same. He reached the Congress -House at just twenty-five minutes to ten by the big round clock in the -lobby and was met with the information that Mr. Milburn had breakfasted -a little earlier than usual and had just gone out. The clerk, still -yawning delicately, could not even hazard a guess as to the manager’s -present whereabouts, and Wayne was turning disappointedly away from the -desk when a bell boy came to his assistance. - -“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 north. The conductor’ll -tell you where to get off. But you’ll see it yourself if you watch for -it.” - -“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, when the -enclosure came into sight, and Wayne decided that the bell boy had -underestimated the distance, possibly from kindly motives. - -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. Wayne passed through -and found himself squarely behind first base, with a wide expanse of -not very flourishing turf stretching away to the distant fences which -were everywhere adorned with colourful advertisements of everything -from smoking tobacco to suspenders. Beside him on his right was an open -door leading into a structure built under one of the stands and which -he presumed held the dressing quarters. At his left was another stand -with a similar building beneath it. Over the door of the latter was the -word “Visitors.” - -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 mustache who took command of the situation just then. - -“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. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -TURNED DOWN! - - -The practice wasn’t much different from what the Chenangos were -accustomed to. Harrisville showed more certainty and ease and speed in -handling the ball, and there were fewer slip-ups, but, on the other -hand, Wayne thought there was something rather perfunctory about the -work. Manager Milburn was after his charges every minute, barking and -snarling, and nothing appeared to please him the least bit in the -world. Wayne began to wonder whether it would not be the part of wisdom -to take himself off and let the interview wait until after dinner or -even tomorrow. There came no sign from the red-haired pitcher--his name -appeared to be Herring, according to the irate manager, and “Red,” if -you believed the players--who was working out near by in company with -three other twirlers and two catchers. Manager Milburn was behind the -plate and the rest of the players, with the exception of two, were in -the field. The two took turns at batting, laying down bunts, cracking -out liners and arching long flies at the behest of the manager. A -short, stocky youngster named Nye was pitching. It was interesting -enough and Wayne would have enjoyed it had it not been for that letter -in his pocket toward which his hand strayed every minute or two. - -After a while Nye gave way to one of the batters, who, it appeared, -was also a pitcher, and retired to the bench beside Wayne. Several not -over-clean towels draped an end of the seat and Nye seized one and -patted the perspiration from his streaming face. - -“Getting hot,” he said to Wayne. The latter agreed. “Newspaper man?” -asked the pitcher. Wayne shook his head. “Thought I didn’t know your -face. What’s your line, friend?” - -“I’m after a place on the team,” replied the boy. “Mr. Farrel sent me.” - -“Honest? How old are you?” - -Wayne hesitated an instant. Finally, however, since he had a fondness -for the truth, he told it. The pitcher raised his brows. - -“Well, if Steve asks you you’d better tack on a couple of years,” he -advised. “You look like you might be eighteen, easy. Where do you play?” - -“Second, sir.” - -“Well, you aren’t likely to get there this season. Jones is as good as -they make ’em. Seen him yet?” - -“Jones?” - -“No, Steve Milburn.” - -“No, sir, not yet. He didn’t seem to be in very good humour and so I -thought maybe I’d better wait awhile.” - -“Hop” Nye chuckled. “You got it about right, kid. If I was you I’d beat -it and come around tomorrow. He won’t get any better today, I guess. -Not this morning, anyway.” - -“Is he always like--like he is now?” asked Wayne anxiously. - -“Steve? No, this is a little extra. Some of the boys went off to a -picnic night before last and yesterday we got licked to a fare-ye-well -by the ‘Billies.’ Oh, no, Steve has his fits now and again, but we -don’t mind ’em much, and he gets over ’em. He’s a good sort--for a -manager.” - -At that moment a stout man wearing a faded sweater whose alternate -rings of red and white added to his apparent circumference and who -walked with a rolling gait and chewed gum fast and furious, appeared on -the scene and was instantly pounced on by Mr. Milburn. - -“Where have you been, Jimmy?” demanded the manager irately. “Had your -dinner yet? Or are you just up from breakfast?” - -“It’s my usual time, Steve,” was the placid reply. “Got through with -’em?” - -“Yes, I’m through with them.” The manager’s tone implied that he was -vastly relieved. “Take them, and if you can do anything with them, do -it for the love of mud!” - -“All right, Boss. Over to the net, boys. Bring them bats, some of you. -Get a hustle on now. Some of you look like you was falling asleep on -your pedals. Get goin’, get goin’!” - -The players moved off with more or less alacrity to the further side -of the field where two batting nets were set, and the manager, after -watching them a moment with the utmost contempt, turned toward the -bench and caught sight of Wayne. The latter wished then that he had -acted on Nye’s advice and left the field when he had had the chance. -Steve Milburn strode up to him belligerently. - -“What are you doing in here?” he barked. “Who let you in? Don’t you -know you fellows aren’t allowed in here without permission? Get out and -stay out!” - -Wayne found himself on his feet. There was something extremely -compelling in the manager’s voice and manner! But the next instant his -fingers had closed around that letter and he was pulling it forth from -his pocket. “I--I was sent to see you, sir----” - -“See me at the hotel then. You newspaper fellows make me sick, anyway. -Who sent you?” - -“Mr. Farrel.” - -“Farrel? Who’s Farrel?” - -“Mr. Chris Farrel, sir. He told me--he gave me----” - -“Chris sent you? What have you got there?” - -“A letter.” Wayne offered it and the manager pulled it impatiently from -his hand, tore open the envelope, and ran a quick and frowning gaze -over the contents. Then he squeezed letter and envelope into a tight -ball and tossed them under the bench. - -“He’s a fool! I don’t need infielders, and he knows it. Nothing doing, -kid.” - -“But--he said you’d give me a try-out, sir,” exclaimed Wayne with a -sinking heart. - -“He’d tell you anything. Look here, now, and get this. I don’t need -infielders and wouldn’t sign one up if he was a Baker and a Collins all -rolled into one. I told Chris to find me an outfielder who could hit -and he goes and sends me a second baseman! And robs the nursery, too! -The man’s crazy! You might as well beat it, kid. Back to the crib for -yours.” - -“I’m old enough to play ball, sir,” answered Wayne. - -“Nothing doing,” replied the man wearily. “I can pick them up any day -like you.” - -“But he said you’d give me a try-out, Mr. Milburn. He--he promised me -that. He wrote another letter to you yesterday----” - -“He _said_ he did. He’d tell you anything. What would you expect of an -idiot who will ship you a second baseman when you want an outfielder? -Anyway, I haven’t got any letter. And it wouldn’t matter if he wrote me -a dozen. I’ve got all the second baseman I want. So don’t stand there -and argue about it. I know what I want, don’t I?” - -“I reckon you do,” answered Wayne, losing his temper at last. “And -I know I was promised a try-out by your--your representative”--the -manager sniffed audibly--“and I want it!” - -“What do I care what you want?” demanded the man loudly. “You won’t get -any try-out from me, and I’m telling you right. I’m not responsible for -Chris Farrel making a fool of himself. Anyway, you aren’t old enough. -Come around next year and I’ll give you a try-out--for bat-boy!” Steve -Milburn turned on his heel. - -Several retorts, none of which were either tactful or likely to aid -his cause, sprang to Wayne’s lips, but he closed his teeth on them. -Instead, he strode quickly after the manager, and the latter turned -upon him scowlingly. “Listen to me, kid,” he said threateningly. “You -beat it out of here before I throw you out. Get that?” - -“Yes, sir,” answered Wayne unflinchingly. “I’m going. Can I see you at -your hotel this evening?” - -“You can not! I’ve said everything. Want me to sing it for you?” - -“No, sir, only I thought that maybe you’d feel different when you’d----” - -“When I’d what?” - -“When you’d got your--when you weren’t angry, sir.” - -“Angry? Who says I’m angry? I’m not angry. You can’t make me angry.” -Mr. Milburn scowled alarmingly. “Anyway, wouldn’t a bunch of boneheads -like those over there make anyone angry? I’d like to see anyone keep -sweet-tempered with that bunch of ivory-domed, flat-footed, slab-sided -cripples on his hands. There isn’t a ball player in the lot! Not a -single, solitary one! They don’t know ball from beans, and they don’t -want to! Angry! Great Scott----” - -“Well, don’t you want to hire a ball player, then, sir?” asked Wayne -innocently. - -“Hire a----” Mr. Milburn sputtered and waved impotent hands about his -head. Then: “_Get out!_” he bawled. - -Wayne went. There didn’t seem anything to be gained by driving the -manager to new heights of frenzy. The last he saw of Steve Milburn that -much-tried man was legging it across the field as fast as his feet -would carry him. Wayne smiled. “I’m glad I’m not one of those fellows,” -he thought as he turned to the gate. - -Mike, who had moved his chair into the shade and was dozing over his -newspaper, looked up sleepily and nodded as Wayne passed through the -fence. Outside, the smile faded from the boy’s face. The humour had -quite gone from the situation now. He had failed and there was nothing -to do but go back to Medfield. The thought didn’t please him. To be -sure, he had prepared Jim Mason and the others for his return by a -prediction that he wouldn’t make good, but it came to him now that he -hadn’t believed in that prediction, that, deep down inside of him, he -had all along expected to succeed. No, returning to Medfield didn’t -appeal to him a bit. - -Presently, as he walked along in the full glare of a merciless noonday -sun, anger ousted dejection. Steve Milburn had no right to turn him -down like that. The club’s scout had guaranteed him a try-out and -the manager ought to give it to him. Wayne told himself that several -times, and the more often he said it, the more convinced he became of -the truth of it, until, having reached the armory corner and turned -toward the Bemis House, he was in a condition of perspiration and -indignation. Sight of the Congress House crystallised the indignation -into resolution. He had a right to a fair trial and he would have it. -He would have it if he stayed in Harrisville all summer! - -From that verdict to reckoning up his money and comparing the amount to -the requirements of a prolonged sojourn in the city was a short step. -He had a little over ten dollars left, or would have when he had paid -for his room at the hotel, and ten dollars would not, he reflected, -keep two hungry boys and a dog from starvation very long. Then he -remembered June’s savings and cheered up again. Using June’s money was -something he didn’t like to do, something he wouldn’t do under ordinary -circumstances, but this was no ordinary crisis. Wayne felt that justice -and honour were involved. He was standing up for his rights. June’s -money should be used, if necessary, for the Cause! - -He wondered whether it might not be well to apply to the law for -assistance, but he abandoned that idea quickly. Lawyers were, as he -had always heard, expensive helpers. And, besides, what was the good -of a try-out if nothing came of it? And if he antagonised Mr. Milburn -too much nothing would come of it. All the manager needed to do was to -give him the try-out and say that he didn’t suit. Next Wayne thought of -the owner of the club, Mr. John J. Badger. Or was it John K.? He might -seek Mr. Badger and put the situation up to him. But then, that, too, -would increase the manager’s ire and probably accomplish harm rather -than good. No, what was to be done must be done tactfully, if firmly, -he decided. He must persuade Mr. Milburn to give him the try-out of his -own free will. Only, how? - -He was still confronted by that “How” when he reached the Bemis House -and found June and Sam dozing in a tilted-back chair under the striped -awning in front. Wayne dragged a chair alongside and, defeating Sam’s -attempts to crawl into his arms, narrated the story of the morning’s -encounter--and defeat. June was incredulous, outraged, indignant. He -insisted that Wayne should revenge himself instantly on Mr. Milburn -and the Harrisville Baseball Club by shaking the dust of the place -from their feet and leaving manager and team to get along without his -services. But Wayne said no to that. - -“We’re going to stay right here until I get what I came for,” he -declared stoutly. “We’re going to find a place to live first of all. -This is too expensive, I reckon. How much money have you got, June?” - -“I got forty-seven dollars an’ ninety-three cents,” replied June -proudly. “I reckon that’ll keep us here mos’ all summer, Mas’ Wayne, if -that fool man don’ give you that position before.” - -“All right, June. Now I’m going to write a letter. Then we’ll have some -dinner and try to find a boarding-house afterward. You stay here, Sam.” - -The letter, written at one of the sloping desks that lined a wall in -the little hotel lobby, was short but decided. It was addressed to Jim -Mason and announced that Wayne would not be back to his job but was -going to remain in Harrisville. It didn’t go into details at all and it -ended up with thanks to Jim for his kindness and love to Mrs. Mason and -Terry and a promise to see him the first time he returned to Medfield. -He considered writing to Arthur Pattern, too, but decided to wait for -a day or two longer. Then, having burned his bridges behind him, Wayne -accompanied June to a nearby restaurant and ate a very satisfactory -dinner. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -“BADGERS” VS. “BILLIES” - - -They found a boarding-place without difficulty less than a square from -the hotel. It was not very prepossessing and even June was inclined -to turn up his nose at it. However, June’s nose was not shaped for -turning-up purposes, and Wayne reminded him that they couldn’t expect -much for two dollars and a half a week, and so he didn’t. They engaged -a small and illy-lighted little apartment with one very grimy window -that looked out into the rear premises of an iron foundry. The view, -while not exactly inspiriting, was at least not monotonous, for the -foundry provided movement and noise; to say nothing of smoke. Their -landlady was frowsy and sleepy-looking and toddled away in evident -relief the instant Wayne had deposited the first week’s board money -in her hand, leaving them to debate whether the one small towel was -intended to serve both occupants. The furniture consisted of two -narrow cots pushed side by side, one chair, a decrepit bureau, and a -metal washstand. There was a tattered rug on the floor and an equally -tattered sash curtain at the lone window. (The rug was tossed into -the hallway that night after Wayne had caught his foot in a hole and -fallen against the bureau.) The cots looked ready to collapse of their -own weight, but proved equal to the tasks set them, although they -complained horribly every time Wayne or June turned over in them. - -But that was later. After settling their few belongings into place the -boys, followed, you may be certain, by Sam, sallied forth again. It -was mid-afternoon by that time and Wayne led the way hurriedly along -the street in the direction of the distant ball park. To part with -fifty cents of their combined fortunes seemed, on the face of it, pure -recklessness, but Wayne soothed his conscience by telling himself that -a fellow ought to know something about the ball team he was going to -join. June’s conscience troubled him not a whit. June was as pleased -as Punch at the idea of seeing a ball game. Sam--well, we don’t know -what Sam thought about it. He seemed, however, perfectly willing to -accompany the expedition. - -The game was well into the first half of the third inning when the two -boys settled themselves in their places on the bleachers. There had -been a trifle of difficulty in persuading the man at the gate to allow -the passage of the dog, a difficulty which Sam had solved by taking -the matter under his own control and trotting past. The ticket taker -had threatened to have the dog removed, but his threat had seemed to -lack conviction and the boys were not troubled. Wayne was surprised to -note the smallness of the attendance. The reserved sections were merely -sprinkled with spectators and more than half of the bleacher seats were -empty. Possibly six hundred persons were on hand, but surely no more. - -The Doncaster Club, familiarly known as the “Billies,” were the -opponents this afternoon, playing the third contest of a four-game -series. The score-board showed Doncaster leading by two runs obtained -in the first inning. Wayne squandered another five cents and bought -a score-card which informed him of the batting order. A neighbour -ended his doubt as to which of the three pitchers on the card was -really performing by telling him over his shoulder that “Wainwright’s -in the box and Linton’s catching. They worked him for a pass and a -three-bagger in the first. Henderson and Coe’s the Billies’ battery.” -Wayne thanked him and turned his attention back to the game in time to -see the third Doncaster man thrown out at first. - -After that the game dragged for several innings, with neither team -getting past second. Wayne recognised several of the players he had -watched in the morning, notably O’Neill, the lanky, tow-headed left -fielder, and a small, lithe youngster named Bennett who played third -base as if he had a bunch of steel springs inside him. In spite of -the distance to the bench, Wayne easily made out Steve Milburn and -“Red” Herring and thought the smaller man next to “Red” was Nye. The -crowd in the bleachers kept up an incessant, good-natured flow of -comment and advice. O’Neill--Wayne learned before the game was over -that his popular nickname was “Sailor”--was a great favourite with the -bleacherites and frequently turned to wave a hand or shout a pat reply -to some remark aimed at him. The bleacherites had other favourites -as well: young Bennett and Nick Crane, the first-choice pitcher, and -a swarthy, broad-shouldered, long-limbed first baseman named Morgan. -And Wayne gathered in the course of the contest that Steve Milburn was -held in the utmost respect as a manager and was personally popular to a -degree. - -Wayne thought that the manager’s “bawling-out” that forenoon had done -good, for the Harrisville team was certainly on its toes all the time -and played with a snap. Only the total inability to hit the Billies’ -pitcher safely kept the home club from scoring. Henderson was slammed -here, there, and everywhere, but there was always a man right on the -spot to spoil the hit. However, the Badgers did manage to get a run -across in the fifth when Cross, who played shortstop and captained the -team, beat out a roller to first, was sacrificed to second, and won -home on a long fly to right fielder. But Doncaster came back in the -next inning and found Wainwright for two hits and a sacrifice and took -back her lead of two tallies. - -June was having a fine time with a bag of peanuts, which he shared with -Sam, and was already a violent partisan of the Harrisville Badgers. -His comments, voiced for Wayne’s ear alone but audible to the nearby -spectators, aroused much mirth. Wayne didn’t hear them all, for he was -busy watching the players and their methods. He saw several tricks that -were new to his experience. For instance, a Doncaster coach at third -insisted that a runner who had reached that base should keep outside -the foul line, something that the runner repeatedly neglected to do. -That puzzled Wayne for the better part of two innings and wasn’t solved -until a batter hit sharply to young Bennett, whereupon Wayne realised -that had a runner been on fair ground he would probably have been hit -by the ball and so been put out. By keeping on foul territory he was -safe. He stored the fact away in his memory for future use. Most of -all he watched the playing of Jones, the second baseman. Jones was -short and a bit heavy-looking, but he seemed fast enough in action -and certainly played a good, steady game. At bat he was not dangerous -that afternoon, but, for that matter, none of the Badgers was. Wayne -asked the man behind him, who had volunteered the information about the -batteries, what sort of a hitter Jones was and the man pursed his lips -and shrugged his shoulders. - -“Clover Jones? We-ell, he ain’t so bad as some. He bats better’n Tim -Leary. I’ve seen Clover everlastingly wallop the ball an’ then again -I’ve seen him go a week without making a hit. You can’t tell about -Clover. He’s a good baseman, though. Ain’t anybody hitting today. That -feller Henderson’s got a lot on the ball, I guess.” - -But even Henderson, who ranked high in the Tri-State League, couldn’t -keep it up to the end, and when the eighth inning came Sailor -O’Neill brought yelps of joy from the stands by leading off with the -Badgers’ fourth safe hit of the game, a sharp liner that whizzed over -shortstop’s head and let O’Neill reach second base by a hair’s breadth. -Then Leary struck out. Linton, the catcher, laid down a bunt in front -of the plate and the Billies’ backstop chose to head off O’Neill at -third. But his hurried throw went wide, O’Neill scored and Linton slid -into second. With but one down there was a fine chance of evening up -the score or winning, and Wayne wasn’t surprised when the delay at the -plate resulted in the arrival there of a pinch-hitter in the person -of Fawcett, a substitute outfielder. Fawcett’s appearance was greeted -joyfully by the bleachers and he received a deal of advice. Fawcett, -however, failed to deliver the needed hit, for, after swinging at two -good ones and missing them, he stood idle, while a third sailed across -the plate. Bennett was the remaining hope, and Bennett came across -nicely. He allowed Henderson to put him in the hole to the tune of -two-and-one, refused a wide one and a drop, and then connected with -the next offering and banged it hard at the hole between second and -shortstop. The pitcher nearly reached it but failed, and the ball -sailed serenely over the second bag and Linton scuttled home with the -tying run. - -The inning ended when Briggs, centre fielder, flied out to first -baseman, and with the score three to three the game went through -the ninth and started the tenth. By this time ennui was no longer -discernible in stands or bleachers. Leather-lunged “fans” were -appealing wildly to the Fates for a victory. Cotton was the relief -pitcher for the Badgers, and, although he was as wild as a hawk in the -ninth, he got by with the aid of sharp fielding and settled down in -the tenth very nicely. With two of the Billies gone, though, an error -by Captain Cross gave a life to the Doncaster left fielder and a pass -to the succeeding batsman put him on second. Then the first baseman -succeeded where better batters had failed and lined one past third, -allowing the left fielder to score and putting the next man on second. -A fly to the outfield brought the end. - -But Doncaster again held the lead and it was up to Harrisville to get a -run across. The bleacherites did all they could to help, and June’s was -a conspicuous voice amongst them. Even Sam seemed to sense a desperate -crisis, for he roused himself from the lethargy produced by a feast -of peanuts and barked wildly. Cross went out, third to first. “Cob” -Morgan, the dark-visaged first baseman, reached the initial station -safely by reason of a fumble on the part of shortstop. Jones started to -the plate but was recalled and LaCroix took his place. LaCroix was a -thick-set, hook-nosed Canuck. Opinion in Wayne’s vicinity differed as -to the advisability of putting “Nap” in, but it was generally conceded -that Steve Milburn generally pulled the trick and that events might -vindicate his judgment in this case. And events surely did. - -Nap LaCroix leaned against the first offering and hit to short right -and there were two on. The Harrisville “rooters” cheered and yelped -and, considering their scarcity, made a brave uproar. Possibly it had -its effect on Henderson, for he wabbled for the first time in the -proceedings and walked O’Neill. The bleacherites arose to their feet -and waved hats and coats and newspapers madly. Wayne did his share, -June yipped, and Sam, squirming in Wayne’s arms, barked frantically. -Another pinch-hitter was sent in, this time in place of Leary. - -“O you Joe Casey!” bellowed the audience. “Hit it out, Joe!” “Remember -yesterday, Joe!” - -The young pitcher, who Wayne gathered had been ingloriously hammered -the preceding afternoon, didn’t look like a likely candidate to pull -the game out of the fire, for he presented a very awkward appearance -at the plate. But he didn’t have much chance to show his prowess for -Henderson pitched two balls before he got a strike over and then -followed with two more, forcing in the tying run and exiling himself -to the showers. The audience shouted joy and relief and settled down -to their seats again. But they still sat on the edges, for the game -was still to win. Linton tried hard to deliver but only hit across the -infield to shortstop and LaCroix was an easy out at the plate. The new -pitcher for Doncaster was slow and heady and he was cutting the corners -very nicely, it seemed, for he wafted two strikes over on Cotton before -the Badgers’ box artist knew what was happening, and Harrisville saw -her hopes descending. Still, in the end Cotton almost came through. -With the score two-and-two, he met a straight one and lifted it -gloriously against the sky for what looked like a circuit hit. -Harrisville arose as one man and shouted hoarsely and triumphantly, for -that ball looked exactly as though it meant to ride right on over the -left field fence. The fielder hiked back on twinkling feet, looked over -his shoulder, raced on again, turned, stepped back until his shadow -loomed large against the boards behind him, and put up his hands. And -that deceitful ball just came right down into them as though pulled -there by an invisible string! - -Gloom and disgust possessed the stands! - -The sun was gone behind the hills in the west when the eleventh session -opened and the heat of the afternoon was giving place to the coolness -of evening. Coats which had laid across knees for ten long innings were -donned again. Here and there a spectator arose, unwillingly, and, with -long backward looks, took himself homeward. Cotton was pitching fine -ball now and Doncaster had never a look-in during her half of the -eleventh. But neither had Harrisville in her portion. If Cotton was -going well, so was the rival twirler, and the nearest thing to a hit -that either team evolved was a palpable scratch that placed Cross on -first, from which sack he failed to move. In the twelfth the Billies -caused consternation by working Cotton for a pass and advancing a man -to third on a sacrifice and an error by LaCroix, playing second. But -two strike-outs followed and averted calamity. - -Manager Milburn’s line-up was a rather patched affair by now, for he -had staked all on that tenth inning crisis. Fawcett started off by -flying out to left. O’Neill hit for one. LaCroix fouled out to catcher. -O’Neill stole on the second pitch to Linton and was safe. Linton -fouled twice behind third base, each time barely escaping being caught -out, and then, with two strikes and two balls against him, waited and -walked to base. With two on and Cotton at bat anything might happen--or -nothing. For a while it looked like nothing, for Cotton, in spite of -his eagerness to hit and the wild and weird manner in which he swung -his bat around his head, for all the world like a joyous lad twirling -a shillalah at Donnybrook Fair and daring an adversary to step up and -have his head broken, the Billies’ pitcher managed to sneak them -across in unexpected places until the score was two-and-two. Cotton was -losing his temper now, and Wayne could hear Steve Milburn barking at -him from the bench. A third ball went past. The bleachers stormed and -railed at the Doncaster pitcher, Cotton squeezed his bat harder than -ever and did a little dance in the box. The Billies’ twirler wound up, -shot his arm forward and the ball sped to the plate. Perhaps Cotton -mistook the ball for the pitcher’s head. At all events, he tried hard -to break his bat on it and came near to doing it. Off whizzed the ball -and off sped Cotton. But the long fly, while it started fair, soon -broke to the left, and Cotton, pounding the turf between first and -second with head down and legs twinkling, was stopped in his mad career -and headed back to the plate. The audience groaned its disappointment -and sat down again. Then an unlooked-for event occurred. Wayne was -apprised of it first when a wild burst of delight broke from his -neighbours in the bleachers. At the plate Cotton was walking sadly -toward the bench, the umpire, mask off, was shouting something that -Wayne couldn’t hear for the noise about him and a new figure strode to -the batter’s box. - -“Who is it?” asked Wayne to the bleachers at large. - -“Steve himself!” was the answer. “Bust it, Steve! Knock the hide off -it! Wow!” - -And sure enough it was Manager Milburn who faced the Doncaster pitcher -now and who tapped a long black bat gently on the rubber, leaned it -against his leg, moistened his hands and rubbed them together, took -up the bat again and eyed the moundsman warily. In the outfield the -players were stepping back and still back. The Harrisville rooters -shouted and screeched, red of face, entreating of voice. - -One ball, far wide of the plate, that Steve Milburn only looked at as -it sped by. A strike that caused him to turn and observe the umpire -silently and derisively. Another ball, high and on the inside, that -sent Steve’s head and shoulders jerking back from its path. The -pandemonium increased. Another offering that would have cut the outer -corner of the plate knee-high had not Manager Milburn’s bat been -ready for it. A fine, heartening _crack_ of wood and leather, a gray -streak cutting the shadows of the first base stands, cries, pounding -feet, dust, confusion and--victory! The ball passed second baseman a -yard from his outstretched fingers and went to right fielder on its -first long bound. But right fielder never threw it. Instead, he merely -trotted benchward. For O’Neill was throwing himself across the plate -by that time and Milburn was on first and the game was over! And -Harrisville had avenged yesterday’s defeat to the tune of four to three! - -The stands emptied, the players thronged to the dressing-rooms and -Wayne and June journeyed across the trampled field of battle on their -way to the gate as happy as though they themselves had won that -victory. And Sam trotted behind with his pathetic stub of a tail -wagging proudly. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -WAYNE LENDS A HAND - - -That evening Wayne went to the Congress House and inquired for Mr. -Milburn. The clerk at the desk pushed a card toward him and he wrote -his name on it. Five minutes later a bell boy returned with the -message that the manager declined to see him. As Wayne had expected -just that, he was not disappointed. Finding a vacant chair against a -wall of the lobby, he went on watch. But, although he saw several of -the Harrisville players come and go during the succeeding hour, the -manager did not appear, and at half-past nine Wayne returned to the -new lodgings. June, with Sam curled into a tight bunch on his chest, -was stretched on his bed reading an evening paper. June was not a fast -reader but he was most thorough, and one newspaper generally lasted him -for several days. Wayne made him lay his paper aside for the present -and produce what money he had. To it Wayne added his own wealth and -they then counted it over. They had to count it thrice for the result -was different the first two times. Fifty-five dollars and forty-one -cents was what they finally made it. Then Wayne figured on the margin -of June’s paper and, after much frowning and muttering, decided that by -rigid economy they could live just about five weeks on their capital. - -“Fifteen cents apiece is enough for breakfast and supper,” said Wayne, -“and we can get a good dinner for thirty cents. That comes to one -dollar and twenty cents a day, or eight-forty a week. Then two and -a half for the room makes it ten-ninety, and ten-ninety goes into -fifty-five forty five times and leaves ninety cents over.” - -“That’s so,” assented June, “but we’d better leave us enough to get -home on, Mas’ Wayne.” - -“We’re home now,” replied Wayne firmly. - -“Is we?” - -“We are! We’re going to stay right here, June. If I don’t get on the -baseball team I’ll find a job somewhere. And you can do the same.” - -“Yes, sir, but what’s to hinder me from gettin’ me a job right now?” -asked June. - -Wayne considered. Finally he shook his head. “No,” he answered, “I -don’t want you working if I’m not. We’ve got enough to last us five -weeks; four, anyway; and when we get toward the end of the money we can -begin to look for something to do. If Mr. Milburn gives me a try-out -and I make good, why, you won’t have to work.” - -“Say I won’? How come, Mas’ Wayne?” - -“You’ll keep house for me, June, and look after Sam. And you can go to -school again. We’ll find a couple of rooms where we can get our own -meals. How would you like that?” - -“With a real cook stove, Mas’ Wayne?” - -“Yes, a real, sure-enough one, June. And we’ll buy a whole outfit of -pans and dishes and everything. And there’ll be a pantry with all sorts -of things in it: canned soup and flour and sugar and----” - -“Molasses?” asked June eagerly. - -“Of course. Everything we want.” - -“Lawsy-y-y!” crooned June, hugging himself tightly and rolling his -eyes. “Jus’ like quality, Mas’ Wayne! Say, I goin’ to cook a big mess -of pork an’ cabbage the very firs’ thing! I ain’ had none of that for a -mighty long ol’ time, I’m tellin’ you.” - -“That’s ‘if’,” reminded Wayne. “Maybe it won’t happen, though.” - -“Mas’ Wayne,” said June earnestly, “it’s jus’ got to happen, yes, sir! -If that yere Mister Manager don’ give you that yere job I goin’ pesker -the life out’n him! ’Deed I is, yes, sir! I’m goin’ make him pow’ful -mis’able.” - -“I’m going to do a little ‘peskering’ myself,” responded Wayne grimly. -“And I’m going to begin tomorrow morning. Now, though, I’m going to -sleep.” - -In the morning they found a little restaurant within a block of their -new lodgings and had breakfast there. It wasn’t a very attractive -place, and the tablecloths were likely to be soiled, but the food was -satisfactory and the prices well within the limit Wayne had decided on. -Also, the proprietor, a little man with a pronounced squint who talked -in broken English, took a liking to Sam and neither of the boys had to -stint his appetite to provide for the dog. After that first morning -Sam trotted at once to the door at the back and stood there with an -inquiring gaze and slowly wagging tail until the expected chop bone or -other delicacy came his way. - -After breakfast June and Sam were left to their own devices and Wayne -set forth for the ball park. Summer had come to Harrisville in its -full intensity now and that long walk through the city and out beyond -where there were neither buildings nor trees to mitigate the ferocity -of the sun left the boy rather limp. As on the first occasion, Mike -held him up at the door, but, recognising him the next instant, passed -him through unsuspectingly. Today practice was in full swing when -he entered the enclosure. Mr. Milburn was batting grounders to the -infield and the portly trainer was knocking up flies. No one paid any -attention to Wayne, and he crossed to the bench in the shade of the -right base stand and settled himself to watch. Perhaps yesterday’s -victory had restored the manager’s good-humour, for he was quite a -different despot this morning. He didn’t hesitate to criticise or find -fault, but his criticisms were just, and his fault-finding excusable. -And he was quite as quick to praise as blame today. The players seemed -in a merry mood and jokes and sallies passed from one to another across -the diamond. Wayne’s first acquaintance, “Red” Herring, was limbering -up his long arm, in company with the rest of the pitchers, at the other -side of the field; Linton and Young catching. In deep right field, two -painters, seated on a swinging scaffold, were dividing their attention -between the sign they were at work on and the practice. - -Both Mr. Milburn and Mr. Slattery, the trainer, caught the balls as -they were returned to them from the fielders, and now and then one -got away from them. Presently a ball thrown to the trainer went wide -and rolled nearly to the fence at the entrance. Being nearer than Mr. -Slattery, Wayne went after it and tossed it back. The trainer accepted -it without comment, swung his bat and sent it flying out into the -field again. When it came in again, however, it passed well out of -the trainer’s reach and that individual, turning with an exclamation -of disgust, saw it, to his surprise, bound into the hands of Wayne. -Unseen of the trainer, Wayne had signalled to the fielder with -upraised hand. Mr. Slattery grunted, accepted the ball and sent it -sailing forth again. After that it was Wayne who caught the throw-in -each time, taking it on the bound, and who tossed it lightly to the -batter. The latter accepted the service silently, doubtless glad to -have it performed for him and not troubling about the performer’s -identity. But, looking across to the plate once, Wayne found Manager -Milburn observing him curiously, perhaps wondering where he had seen -him before. That the manager did not remember him seemed evident a few -minutes later when the players were called in and someone reported that -the second base bag had broken away. Mr. Milburn called to the trainer. - -“Jimmy, send in and get a new strap for the second base bag,” he -directed. “Jones says it’s broken.” And when Jimmy Slattery turned to -waddle back to the dressing-room he added: “Send your helper, Jimmy, -and you take them over to the nets.” - -“This feller?” asked Jimmy viewing Wayne doubtfully. “You know where -they are?” he inquired. - -“I’ll find them, sir,” said Wayne. - -“Well, get one, then, like a good feller,” said Jimmy, “and slip it on -the second bag.” - -Wayne entered the shed and looked around. There was a table in the -first half-lighted room, and a half-dozen ticket boxes in a row on -the floor. The table held a telephone instrument, some newspapers, a -blotting-pad that looked as though it had been unchanged for many years -and a litter of miscellaneous articles. But there were no base straps -there and Wayne penetrated to the next apartment. This was evidently -the dressing-room, for one side was lined with wooden lockers, most of -them open and displaying the street costumes of the players, and on -the other side were half a dozen showers. Two bare tables occupied the -centre. Three wooden benches about completed the furnishings. One of -the benches held a pile of towels and a box which, containing bottles -and rolls of tape and gauze, exhaled a strong odour of liniment. But -still there were no straps and Wayne returned to the outer room and was -about to acknowledge defeat when his eyes fell on a closet. Although -its door was closed, the key was in the lock, and when he had pulled -it open he found what he was after. There were all sorts of things in -that closet: base bags, bats, boxes of balls, masks, chest protectors, -boxes whose contents he could only guess at, and, finally, a lot of -straps depending from a nail. Wayne took one of the latter, closed the -door as he had found it and went out again. - -Everyone had crossed to the further side of the field where the -batting-nets stood, and Wayne took the strap down to second base and -proceeded to fix it in place. When he had finished and had secured the -bag to its spike he went over to Jimmy Slattery, who was coaching the -batters at the nearer net, and held out the broken strap. “What shall I -do with this?” he asked. - -“Huh?” asked Jimmy. “Oh, throw it away, kid. Want a job?” - -“Yes,” answered Wayne truthfully. - -“Get out there then and chase some of those balls,” directed the other. - -So Wayne went down the field, discarded his jacket and placed it -against the fence and got to work. It was work, too, for only three of -the players were fielding and they were quite content to let Wayne run -after the hits that went over their heads or got past them. Now and -then Wayne had the fun of trying for a fly. When he did he usually got -it, although he started out with a muff that brought ironical remarks -from the others. - -“Open your mouth and let it fall in,” called Fawcett. - -“Put your hands up,” advised Briggs facetiously, “and see will the ball -hit ’em, kid!” - -But Wayne only smiled as he trotted after the elusive sphere and threw -it to the nearer fielder. The next time the ball did hit his hands and, -moreover, stayed in them, and Briggs was ready with a cheerful “’Ata -boy! Squeeze it!” After that, by common consent, a fly that passed over -the heads of the three players was left to Wayne undisputed. - -“Say, Win,” called Briggs once, “you’ll be losing your job first thing -you know. The kid’s clever!” - -At first Wayne threw to Briggs or Fawcett or the third fielder, Leary, -and let them peg the ball back to the pitcher, but presently, when he -had stopped a grounder well in, he took courage and threw the ball in -himself and threw it so well that Fawcett turned and regarded him with -new interest. - -“Can you do that every time, stranger?” inquired the substitute -outfielder. “’Cause, if you can, you’d better strike the boss for a -job!” - -After a while Fawcett, Briggs, and Leary went in to take their turns at -the net and a new trio came out to field. One was “Sailor” O’Neill, the -left fielder, and “Sailor,” sauntering out toward Wayne, observed him -curiously. - -“Where’d you come from, kid?” he asked. - -“Medfield,” replied Wayne. - -“Steve signed you on, has he?” - -“Not yet.” - -“Is he going to? Are you the fellow ‘Red’ was telling me about?” - -“I reckon so,” was the answer. “Mr. Farrel sent me here for a try-out, -but Mr. Milburn says he don’t need me.” - -“Huh! One of Chris’ finds, eh? Well, he picks a good ’un now and then; -about once in three years. Keep after him, kid. He’ll come across all -right.” - -Further conversation was interrupted by a sizzling grounder that -reminded “Sailor” of his duties. - -The morning’s work-out ended with practice on the bases and Wayne -went back to the bench. He didn’t have it to himself now, for Jimmy -Slattery, very warm and puffing from his recent exertions, was -there, as were four of the pitching staff, “Hop” Nye amongst them. -“Hop” recognised Wayne and nodded. The others viewed him with mild -curiosity. Only Jimmy challenged his presence there. - -“How do you happen to be in here, kid?” he asked when Wayne had seated -himself on the bench. - -“I’m waiting for a try-out,” answered the boy as casually as he could. -“Mr. Farrel sent me.” - -“Oh.” But the trainer was still evidently puzzled. After a minute, -spent in surreptitious examination of the boy, he inquired with a trace -of sarcasm: “And what might you be? A pitcher or a catcher or what?” - -“Infielder, sir. Second baseman, for choice.” - -“Huh! You’ve got a choice, have you? That’s fine! What’s the boss say?” - -“He hasn’t decided yet.” - -Nye, who had overheard the conversation, leaned forward and spoke to -the trainer. “He’s all right, Jimmy,” said “Hop.” “Chris sent him up -and Steve won’t give him a look-over. _Says_ he won’t, anyway. What’s -your name, kid?” - -“Sloan, sir.” - -“Well, Sloan, you take my advice and keep right after him. You’ll have -to if you want to get anything out of him. Ain’t that so, Jimmy?” - -“It’s true as true, my boy. I don’t see, though, what for Chris Farrel -sent us an infielder. Can you hit the ball any?” - -“I--yes, sir, a little.” - -“A little won’t get you anything, my boy. What the boss is lookin’ for -is fellers as can swing on ’em hard. Still and all, I ain’t saying you -mightn’t develop if Steve’ll take you on. Who was you playing with -last?” - -“Medfield,” answered Wayne. - -“Medfield? I never heard of them,” pondered the trainer. - -“It’s an amateur team, sir.” - -“Ah, that’s it, eh? You’re one o’ them gentlemen amachoors, are you? -Well, Joe, here, was one o’ them things himself till I found him. ’Twas -me that rescued him from a life of crime.” - -Joe Casey turned a tanned countenance and grinned along the bench. -“When you found me, Jimmy,” he said, “I was playin’ with a bunch that -knew baseball, take it from me. That team could give us two runs an -inning and beat us without trying.” - -“Yah!” said Jimmy disdainfully. “Listen to him, fellers! When I first -set my eyes on that guy he was playing toss with a bunch of these here -Willie Boys, and all dolled up in fancy togs like a moving-picture -hero! Wore a silk shirt, he did! And every time he steps gracefully to -the box a lot of his sissy friends waves little pink flags and cheers -right out loud for him! Say, believe me, fellers, it was killing!” - -“That’s all right,” responded Casey, with a laugh. “That same bunch -of Willie Boys could play ball some! We were the champs three years -running, old scout!” - -“I know, but them girls’ schools is easy to beat,” replied Jimmy, with -a wink at Wayne. The others on the bench laughed and Jimmy pulled -himself to his feet. “Kid,” he said, “if you want a try-out you’ve got -to make the boss think you’re good. Tell him you fielded for a thousand -and batted for seven hundred. He won’t believe you, but he might be -curious to see how you stack up. And keep after him, laddie.” - -“Thank you,” answered Wayne. “I mean to.” - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -JUNE GOES TO WORK - - -But Wayne did not approach Manager Milburn that day. Somehow the -occasion failed to present itself, and, while determined to overcome -the other’s resistance by perseverance, he did not want to start out by -making a nuisance of himself. Save that he became slightly acquainted -with several other members of the Harrisville Club that morning, he -could not be said to have made much progress. He wanted very much to -see that final game with Doncaster in the afternoon, but it meant the -price of two dinners approximately, since it didn’t even occur to him -to go without June. He had to be satisfied with reading about it in -the late edition of the evening paper and was vastly disappointed when -he learned that the Billies had fallen on Joe Casey in the eighth and -driven him to cover, scoring four hits and two runs and securing a lead -that the home team had been unable to overcome. Herring had finished in -the box for Harrisville and had held the opponent safe, but the damage -had been done by that time and the final score read 7 to 6. Doncaster -had, consequently, split even on the series and incidentally reduced -Harrisville’s lead in the league standing to eight games. Damascus had -won again that day from Utica and slipped into second place. Wayne -concluded that it would be well to wait until Harrisville had won her -next game before presenting himself again to Mr. Milburn. - -A single line under the caption “With the Amateur Clubs” announced: -“At Medfield; Chenango, 14, Atlas A. A., 2.” Something rather like a -pang of homesickness went through him then and he almost wished himself -back in Medfield. He wrote a letter to Arthur Pattern that night before -going to bed and sent his new address. - -Sunday was a quiet and rather dull day for the boys. They went for a -walk in the afternoon and explored the city pretty well, but the only -incident of interest occurred when Sam made the mistake of underrating -the fighting ability of a large gray cat and returned sadder and -wiser after an encounter in an alley. Tabby had clawed his nose most -thoroughly and Sam had to whimper a little and be sympathised with -before the journey continued. By getting up late that morning and -dressing very leisurely they managed to make breakfast and dinner -suffice in the way of meals, thus saving twenty cents. (The saving -would have been thirty cents had not June fallen victim to the -fascination of a chocolate éclair and Wayne squandered another nickel -on a Sunday paper.) - -On Monday Wayne went back to the ball park and again served as -utility man, catching throw-ins for Jimmy Slattery and backing up the -fielders during batting practice. He was rapidly becoming an accepted -feature of the morning work and the players, most of whom had by this -time heard his story, were very friendly toward him, “Red” Herring -especially. Practice lacked vim this morning, and the manager, while -he gave no such exhibition of temper as he had displayed Friday, was -plainly disgruntled. Wayne took pains to keep out of his way, but he -was haunted by a feeling that Mr. Milburn’s lack of recognition was -only assumed. Once Wayne surprised the manager observing him with an -expression that, while not unfriendly, was decidedly ironical. He -wondered then whether Mr. Milburn had recognised him Saturday. Somehow -he rather thought he had! - -Practice again ended without any apparent advancement of Wayne’s -fortunes, for he had by now determined that when he again broached the -subject of that try-out to the manager it should be after Harrisville -had won a game and while Mr. Milburn was in the best of humours. To -bring the matter up at the wrong moment might, he suspected, result -disastrously. Although Wayne was unacquainted with the phrase, it was -the psychological moment that he waited for. Besides, there was another -thing that he was banking on, and that was the return to Harrisville -of Chris Farrel. It seemed to him that Chris could easily secure that -try-out if only he would put in his appearance. But inquiry that -morning of Jimmy Slattery was not encouraging. Jimmy didn’t know when -Chris would get back. He had heard that the scout was working his way -south as far as Maryland. He might be back tomorrow or next week. He -came and went about as he saw fit, a fact which Jimmy, for some reason -not apparent to Wayne, seemed to resent. - -Damascus had no trouble winning that Monday game. Herring started in -the box for the Badgers but lasted only three innings and was succeeded -by Tommy Cotton. In the seventh Cotton resigned and Nick Crane took -up the task. Harrisville played rather poorly, Wayne learned from the -evening paper. At all events, Damascus gathered in the contest to the -tune of 4 to 0. - -Tuesday’s work-out went with a new dash and vigour, and the batting -practice lasted twice as long as usual. It was freely given out that -Mr. Milburn intended to win a majority of those four games, which -meant that the Badgers must take the remaining three. That afternoon -“Red” Herring again started the performance and this time he went -through without a hitch, and, although the home club failed again to -win renown with their sticks, the game went to the Badgers 2 to 1. -Wayne was tempted to try his fortunes with Mr. Milburn that evening, -but discretion held him back. If the Badgers took tomorrow’s game -perhaps he would risk it. Or maybe it would be still safer to wait -until the Badgers had secured their three out of four. That is, if -they did. They had got back their eight-game lead again, but Doncaster -had won both games of a double header with Trenton and was now tied -for second place, and it was no secret that Manager Milburn feared the -Billies more than the Damascus club. - -Wayne got a reply from Jim Mason that afternoon. Jim was all for having -Wayne give up and come back to his job. Perhaps he had read more in the -boy’s letter than Wayne had intended him to. “I haven’t got any new -fellow in your place yet,” wrote Jim, “and I won’t if you say you’re -coming back. I can get along for another week I guess but you better -write and say you are coming back so I will know whether to expect you -or not. The missis is well and so is Terry. He sends you his love and -says please come back to see him. We are not very busy right now but -last week they dumped a string of foreigns on me and I had a tough time -getting shut of them. Terry says tell you the chicken with the twisted -leg up and died on him the other day. So no more at present.” - -Wayne was strongly tempted after reading Jim’s letter to see Mr. -Milburn then and there and, if he still refused, to go back to Medfield -on the first train in the morning. Perhaps it was a chance remark of -June’s, as much as anything else, that kept him from yielding to that -temptation. - -“I sure does like this yere Ha’isville,” declared June that evening at -supper. “Wouldn’ go back to that little ol’ Medfield if they ask me, -no, sir!” - -“You wouldn’t?” asked Wayne. “Why, June?” - -“’Cause this is a regular white man’s town, Mas’ Wayne. Livin’s cheap -an’ fine, an’ folkses is fine, an’ there’s somethin’ goin’ on all the -time. An’ if I wanted to, Mas’ Wayne, I could get me a job in no time -at all, I could so, yes, sir.” - -“What kind of a job, June?” - -June waved a fork vaguely but grandly. “Anythin’ at all,” he answered. -“I met up with a nigger blacks boots at that yere Congress House -you-all was tellin’ about an’ he say he can get me a job there tomorrow -if I wants it, yes, sir.” - -“As bell boy?” - -“Yes, sir, an’ it don’ cost me but four bits.” - -“Who gets the four bits, June?” - -“This yere nigger I’m tellin’ you about. That’s his commission.” - -“Oh, he wants a half-dollar for getting you the job, you mean?” Wayne -was silent a moment. Then: “June, that’s where Mr. Milburn lives,” he -said thoughtfully. - -“Yes, I ’member you tellin’ me that.” - -“I wonder----” Wayne’s voice dwindled off again to silence. At last: -“Would you like to take that job, June?” he asked. - -“Not if you-all don’ want me to, Mas’ Wayne. I ain’ complainin’ none. -’Course, ain’ much to do ’cept hang aroun’----” - -“You go there tomorrow and grab it,” said Wayne. - -“Hones’? You ain’ mindin’ if I do?” - -“No, I’d rather you did, June. You might--I don’t see how you could, -exactly--but you might----” - -“Yes, sir, Mas’ Wayne?” - -“Well, you just _might_ be able to help me, June, if you were at the -Congress House. Suppose, for instance, I wanted to see Mr. Milburn, -and the clerk wouldn’t let me up. If you sort of made his acquaintance -and got friendly with him----” - -“Lawsy-y-y! Ain’ that the truth? Mas’ Wayne, I goin’ make that yere -Mister Manager jus’ love me, yes, sir! I goin’ be so nice an’ ’tentive -to him----” - -“Go ahead,” laughed Wayne. “Make him love you so much that he will give -me a place on the team, June.” - -“That’s jus’ what I’m aimin’ to do,” replied June, showing all his -teeth in a broad grin. “You jus’ wait till I gets me acquainted with -that Mister Man. I--I goin’ put a conjur on him, yes, sir!” - -The next morning June departed, armed with his “four bits” and his -ingratiating smile in the direction of the Congress House and Wayne saw -him no more until supper time. Wayne spent the forenoon at the ball -grounds making himself useful. Today his duties included catching “Red” -again. Linton did not show up and as Young couldn’t attend to more than -three of the pitchers Herring found a mitt for Wayne and towed him -across to the third base side of the field and ranged him alongside -Catcher Young. - -“You take the other fellers, Dan,” said “Red.” “I got me a catcher.” - -Wayne was a little embarrassed and awkward at first, but by the time -“Red” was getting warmed up and putting speed into the ball he was so -interested that he forgot all self-consciousness. “Red” was feeling -in fine form this morning, possibly as a result of yesterday’s game, -and some of his deliveries were hard to judge. There was a “jump ball” -in particular that always caused Wayne anxiety until it had settled -into his mitten. Crane, Nye, and Cotton, who were pitching to Young, -and Young, too, for that matter, observed the emergency catcher with -interest. It was “Hop” who asked presently: “You and Steve got together -yet, kid?” - -“Not yet,” replied Wayne cheerfully, rolling the ball from mitt to hand -and tossing it back to Herring. “There’s no hurry, I reckon.” - -“Better not leave it too long,” advised Cotton. “Chris Farrel’ll be -sending another rookie along first thing anyone knows. He’s a great one -for that sort of thing.” - -“Oh, Chris is all right,” said Herring. “He discovered Cob Morgan and -Bee Bennett, didn’t he? And I sort of guess they ain’t so poor.” - -“Chris makes about one lucky guess in ten,” observed Pitcher Crane, -“but maybe that’s a good average. I don’t know.” - -“You twirling this afternoon, Nick?” asked Herring. - -“I guess so. The boss is crazy to cop the next two games.” - -“Don’t look like it,” said Cotton innocently. “You’d think he’d put a -good pitcher in today.” - -Crane only smiled. Nick, in the words of the Harrisville baseball -scribes, was the “dean of the pitching corps,” and didn’t have to -answer such aspersions. Just then Manager Milburn summoned Herring to -take Casey’s place on the mound and Wayne was for removing his mitt. -Young, however, suggested his taking Nye off his hands and Wayne -assented. “Hop” was easy after Herring, for he used straight balls a -good deal and although they came like lightning they were far easier -to judge than “Red’s” eccentric slants. Later, when the players moved -to the nets, Wayne encountered another of Manager Milburn’s sarcastic -glances, but he didn’t mind. As long as the manager didn’t object -to his being on the field during practice Wayne was for the present -satisfied. - -That afternoon he received a letter, forwarded from Medfield, that -brought his heart into his mouth as he read the postmark and recognized -the writing. It was from his stepfather, and for a moment Wayne -hesitated to open it, fearing that it was a summons home. But it -wasn’t. Mr. Higgins was brief and decided. “Understand,” he wrote, -“that this is your doing and not mine. Don’t come home here expecting -me to take you in again for I won’t. And don’t apply to me for money. -You won’t get any. You will have to get along by your own efforts. I -hope you will do so, but nothing I have ever seen of you leads me to -expect it.” - -“It sounds a heap like him,” murmured Wayne, thrusting the letter back -into its envelope. “He never did think I was any good, anyway. But -I’ll show him. And he needn’t be afraid of my going back or asking -him for money, because I wouldn’t, not if I was starving to death!” -Wayne clenched his hands tightly and frowned at the letter. Then the -frown faded and gave place to a satisfied smile. “Anyway,” he said to -himself, “he isn’t going to try to get me back, and that’s a load off a -fellow’s mind!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -MR. MILBURN PROMISES - - -June took a shining half-dollar from his pocket and slipped it along -the counter. Wayne examined it questioningly. - -“Mister Milburn done give me that,” chuckled June. “An’ all I done was -jus’ fetch him some seegars from the news-stand.” - -“You mean he tipped you a whole half-dollar for that?” marvelled Wayne. - -June nodded. “Yes, sir, that’s all I done. He say, ‘Boy, fetch me two -seegars from the news-stand. Tell them they’s for Mister Milburn an’ -they’ll know what you want.’ An’ he give me a dollar bill an’ they was -seventy-five cents change an’ he say, ‘Where you come from? I ain’ -seen you before, has I?’ An’ I say, ‘No, sir, you ain’. I’m the new -bell boy, sir, an’ anytime you wants anythin’ done partic’lar jus’ you -asks for June.’ He sorter laughed an’ say as how he’s goin’ remember, -an’ asks me where did I come from, an’ I tell him I come from Colquitt -County, Georgia, an’ he say he knows Colquitt County ’cause he was to a -trainin’ camp down thataway once.” June paused long enough to transfer -some of the contents of his plate to his mouth, and then, heedful of -his companion’s mandate regarding conversation and a full mouth, waited -another moment before continuing. “We got on fine, him an’ me, Mas’ -Wayne. He’s a right sociable gen’leman, yes, sir.” - -Wayne laughed. “I reckon that half-dollar was for your conversation, -June, and not for the errand. Did you tell him you came here from -Medfield?” - -June shook his head innocently. “He ain’ ask me that.” - -“Well, you made a good start. Do you like the work, June?” - -“Yes, sir, it’s a right promisin’ place. Lot’s o’ free-spendin’ -gen’lemen at that yere hotel. Reckon I’m goin’ do better’n I did at -the Union. I gets four dollars a week. They works you longer, though, -’cause I got to get there at six in the mornin’ an’ I don’ get through -till six in the evenin’.” - -“Why, that’s twelve hours, June!” - -“Yes, sir, but the more I’m aroun’ there the more I’m goin’ to put -in my jeans. I made a dollar an’ ten cents today, Mas’ Wayne; an’ -I’d a done better’n that if them other boys hadn’ tried to friz me -out. There’s four of them, an’ one’s a big yaller boy with a mean -disposition. I reckon,” June added thoughtfully, “I’ll jus’ have to lam -him good before he quits foolin’ with me!” - -“You’d better not,” cautioned Wayne. “This isn’t Medfield, and they -might fire you if they found you fighting.” - -“They ain’ goin’ to fin’ me. I’m goin’ do it where they won’ know -nothin’ about it. How come them other gen’lemen pesker us like they -done today, Mas’ Wayne?” - -“What other gentlemen? Oh, you mean the Damascus club. We just couldn’t -hit them any more than they could hit us, June. You see Mr. Milburn -pitched Nick Crane and so the Damascus manager put in Woodworth, their -best man, and it was a pitchers’ battle right through the whole eleven -innings. If Bennett hadn’t stolen home from third with two out in the -eleventh I reckon they’d be playing yet. I’d like to have seen that -steal. It must have been a dandy!” - -“Sure must! That gives us three games to their two, don’ it? Reckon -we’ll win the one tomorrow, Mas’ Wayne?” - -“I don’t know. I heard that they’re going to use a fellow named Ripley, -and they say he’s almost as good as Woodworth. He’s a spit-ball -pitcher.” - -“I am’ never see nobody pitch one of them yere spit-balls,” said June. -“Who goin’ pitch for us, sir?” - -“I suppose it will be Nye. It’s his turn, I think. Either Nye or -Cotton. I reckon if Damascus plays the way she played today tomorrow’s -game is going to be worth seeing.” - -“Why don’ you-all go an’ see it, Mas’ Wayne?” - -“Can’t afford it, June. We’ve been here a week now and----” - -“You ain’ got to ’ford it,” chuckled June. “Mister Milburn say if I -want to see a game jus’ let him know an’ he goin’ pass me in. I’ll ask -him about it tomorrow an’ you can take the ticket.” - -“He wouldn’t want you to give it to anyone else, June. Maybe I’ll try -walking in past Mike at the players’ gate. I don’t believe he would -stop me, and I don’t believe anyone would mind, because I’ve helped a -good deal out there in the mornings, June.” - -“Sure you has, Mas’ Wayne! You got a perfec’ly good right to see them -games, yes, sir.” - -Wayne exhibited his stepfather’s letter then and June, after he had -slowly puzzled through it, snorted with disgust. “Ain’ that like him, -Mas’ Wayne, sir? Ain’ it jus’ _like_ him? Firs’ thing he thinks of is -money! I can’ ever say jus’ what I thinks of that gen’leman ’cause -he’s a sort o’ relation o’ yours, Mas’ Wayne, but I certainly does do a -heap o’ thinkin’!” - -“Anyway, he intends to let me alone, June, and that’s what I wanted. -As for money, why, he will have to give me some when I’m twenty-one -because mother left me almost twelve hundred dollars and he only has it -in trust.” - -“Reckon he ain’ wishin’ for you-all to remember that,” replied June, -shaking his head. “An’ if I was you, Mas’ Wayne, I’d write to Lawyer -Ackerman an’ tell him to keep a mighty sharp watch on that yere -stepdaddy of yours, yes, sir!” - -“He can’t very well run off with the farm, June,” laughed Wayne, “and -as long as that’s there I reckon I can always get my money.” - -June was passing along the second floor corridor of the Congress House -the next morning, laden with a number of empty ice-water pitchers and -crooning a song, when a door opened and Mr. Milburn confronted him. - -“Boy! Run down and get me a Philadelphia paper. Any one will do. Oh, is -that you, January?” - -“No, sir, Mister Milburn, I ain’ January yet, sir; I’m jus’ June.” - -“Well, all right, June,” chuckled the manager. “Hustle up that paper. -I’ve got a dime here that’s looking for a home.” - -“Yes, sir, don’ you do nothin’ with it till I returns,” answered June, -sprinting for the stairs. - -When he came back and knocked on the door and was told to enter Mr. -Milburn was seated at a table clipping things from various newspapers -and pasting them in a huge scrapbook. “That’s the boy,” he said, “and -here’s your dime, June. How did they come to call you June, eh?” - -“’Tain’ really June, sir, it’s Junius; Junius Brutus Bartow Tasker is -my full name, Mister Milburn.” - -“‘Full’ is good! Going out to see my boys play today, Junius Brutus -And-so-forth?” - -“I can’ get off today, sir, but I got a friend that would like powerful -much to see that game.” - -“Oh, I’m not proposing to supply your friends with tickets, boy. Hasn’t -this friend got a quarter?” - -“Yes, sir, but he’s needin’ all the quarters he’s got, jus’ like me, -sir.” - -“Oh, all right.” Mr. Milburn produced a slip of paper and scrawled a -hurried signature on it. “There you are. Tell him to show that to the -man at the ticket office and he will fix him out. Haven’t you seen my -club play yet?” - -“Once, Mister Milburn. We seen ’em lick those Billies last--last -Friday, I reckon it was. An’ we seen some ball playin’! Yes, sir, we -surely did so!” - -“Who are ‘we’? You and this friend of yours?” - -“Yes, sir. He ain’ exac’ly a friend, though.” - -“Isn’t he?” Mr. Milburn turned the pages of the paper June had brought -him and hurriedly scanned them. “Isn’t an enemy, is he?” - -“No, sir, he’s--he’s my boss.” - -“Your boss? What do you mean by that?” The manager dropped the paper to -the floor, glanced at his watch and turned an amused gaze on the boy. - -“Well, sir, he’s Mas’ Wayne Sloan, sir, an’ the Sloans is quality down -in Colquitt County. You see, Mas’ Wayne’s mother she up an’ die ’bout -three-four years ago an’ this yere stepdaddy of his ain’ no earthly -’count, no, sir, he ain’. He jus’ pesker Mas’ Wayne somethin’ fierce -till him an’ me we jus’ lit out an’ come up North here.” - -“Sloan?” inquired Mr. Milburn. “He’s a white boy, then?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“Sloan, eh? Look here, that isn’t the kid that Farrel sent to me for a -try-out, is it? A dark-haired chap with----” - -“Yes, sir, that’s Mas’ Wayne. How come you-all ain’ given him that -yere try-out yet, sir?” - -“Because he’s an infielder, June, and we don’t need infielders. I told -him that days ago, but he’s still hanging around, I see.” - -“Yes, sir, we’re waitin’.” - -“Well, I’m afraid waiting won’t do him any good, June. You’d better -tell him so. I like the kid’s perseverance, but he’s wasting his time. -If he was a couple of years older and could play a little I’d give him -a chance.” - -“Yes, sir, an’ I reckon he’s goin’ be a couple years older if you-all -don’ hurry up!” June’s grin robbed the statement of offence. “Mister -Milburn, please, sir, can I tell you somethin’?” - -“Go ahead, June.” - -“Well, sir, Mas’ Wayne’s surely one fine ball player,” said June -earnestly, “an’ you-all ain’ actin’ sensible if you don’ grab him, sir.” - -“Oh, that’s just your idea of him, June,” was the good-natured reply. -“We get dozens like him every spring, fellows fresh from high school or -college who think that if they can hold a ball when it’s thrown to them -they’re regular Big Leaguers.” - -“How come this yere Mr. Farrel done send him over here, sir?” - -“Oh, Farrel plays it safe, June. He has instructions to pick up -anything that looks good and ship him over for me to see. But he isn’t -supposed to rob the nurseries. We can’t use them until they’re grown -up.” - -“Well, sir, seems like this yere Mister Farrel ain’ actin’ jus’ right. -He done tell Mas’ Wayne how you goin’ give him a try-out an’ all, an’ -Mas’ Wayne he give up his position in Medfield an’ now ain’ nothin’ -’tall come of it. It don’ seem jus’ right, sir, does it? Mas’ Wayne he -’lows we’s goin’ stay right here till he gets that yere try-out, yes, -sir, but we ain’ got but about fifty dollars an’ that ain’ goin’ to -last forever, is it? Please, sir, Mister Milburn, I wish you’d jus’ -give him that ol’ try-out, sir, an’ then, if he don’ act good, we knows -where we’re at! Couldn’ you jus’ do that, please, sir?” - -The manager frowned impatiently, slapped the scrapbook shut, opened it -again, and once more looked at his watch. June observed him anxiously -but continued to smile. Perhaps it was that smile that decided the -question, for Mr. Milburn saw it and the corners of his own mouth began -to go up, and presently he laughed. - -“All right, June,” he said. “He shall have his try-out. Maybe tomorrow. -By the first of the week, anyway. You can tell him so. And you can tell -him he owes it to you. Mostly, at any rate.” The manager arose. “Maybe -I’d have given it to him anyhow sooner or later, just to get rid of -him!” he added grumblingly. He turned with pretended ferocity on June. -“You got that dime, didn’t you?” he demanded. - -“Yes, sir, thanky, sir.” - -“Well, what are you waiting for then? Beat it! Get out of here before -you think up any more hard-luck stories! Here, give me that pass!” - -June yielded it and the manager tore it in half and dropped the pieces -on the floor. “Tell Sloan I said he was to go in the players’ gate. I -guess he’s earned the right to see one game. Now get out of here, you -black nuisance!” - -“Yes, sir,” replied June, grinning from ear to ear. “Thanky, sir. Hope -you wins your game, sir.” - -“Hope you get your wish, June! You don’t happen to own a rabbit’s foot, -do you? One of the lucky sort, I mean.” - -“No, sir, I ain’ got no rabbit’s foot, but you-all’s goin’ win today, -Mister Milburn, yes, sir! I goin’ put a conjur on that yere game!” - -“You and your conjurs!” laughed the other. “We’ll see, though, and if -we don’t win--well, you’d better keep out of my reach, boy.” - -“Yes, sir,” chuckled June from the doorway, “if we don’ win I’m goin’ -give you the whole sidewalk!” - -June, however, had no chance to give Mr. Milburn’s message to Wayne, -for Wayne did not come around to the hotel and June’s duties prevented -him from seeking him at noon hour. June got his dinners at the hotel, -which meant a saving of thirty cents a day, but he wasn’t allowed -much time to eat them in. Consequently it was with the intention of -walking boldly past Mike, the gate-man, that Wayne started out for the -field that afternoon. Yesterday’s close contest, and the fact that -today’s encounter was the last with the Damascus club at Harrisville -until after the home team’s swing around the circle which began next -week, had combined to awaken a more than usual amount of interest in -the afternoon’s game and the cars that buzzed and clanged their way -past Wayne were filled to the running-boards. It was evident that the -attendance at the park today would assume holiday proportions, and, -too, that the railway company had, in spite of extra cars, failed to -accommodate all who wanted to ride. Wayne had started early, hoping -to get there about the time the players went in and trusting to the -good offices of “Red” Herring or some other acquaintance to gain him -admittance should Mike prove obdurate, but the players had passed him -long ago in their car and it lacked but twenty minutes of starting time -when he got within distant sight of the park. - -It was then that he noticed that the trolley cars were blocked -somewhere ahead. The passengers were jumping off and starting the -rest of the journey afoot, but Wayne thought nothing of it until the -imperative clang of an ambulance bell sounded on his ears and he turned -to watch the vehicle dash hurriedly past, scattering pedestrians to -right and left. Before Wayne had covered the next two squares, the -ambulance passed again, speeding now in the direction of town, with a -white-garbed doctor swaying on the steps. - -“Reckon someone got smashed up,” reflected Wayne, walking a little -faster. The folks about him were audibly conjecturing on the accident -but no one seemed to know anything about it, and it was not until -Wayne had reached the corner of an intersecting street a square from -the ball grounds that he learned the facts. The brakes on one of the -cars had failed to work and, since there was a down-grade just here, -it had crashed into the rear of a car ahead. The two cars were there -for evidence, both badly crushed as to vestibules. A motorman and two -passengers had been badly injured, Wayne heard, but no one had been -killed. Several others had been shaken up, but, as Wayne’s informant -added, with a smile, they had gone on into the ball game and so -probably weren’t dangerously injured! That reminded Wayne of his own -purpose and, after pushing his way forward for a curious view of the -damaged cars, he hurried on again and sought the players’ gate. By now -he had determined to see the game in any event. After walking all the -way from town in the hot sun it would be silly to turn back, he told -himself, and he jingled the few coins in his pocket reassuringly. - -The door in the high fence was closed but yielded readily to pressure -and Wayne, looking as nonchalant as he knew how, stepped inside. Mike -was standing a few yards away, talking with one of the ground-keepers -and didn’t turn until he heard the creaking of the door as it went shut -on its rusty hinges. When he did turn, though, Wayne saw an expression -of lively interest on his face and paused irresolutely, so certain was -he that Mike meant to deny him admittance. But Mike’s greeting was -startlingly different from what Wayne expected. The door tender took a -step toward him and jerked an impatient thumb over his shoulder. - -“Hurry up an’ get in there,” he said. “The boss is lookin’ for you!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -SECOND BASE SLOAN - - -The succeeding quarter-hour was always strangely confused and -indistinct in Wayne’s memory. Damascus was warming up on the diamond -and Herring’s brilliant thatch showed above the corner of the stand as -the boy’s gaze swept hurriedly toward the field ere he turned in at the -dressing-room door. Doubtless others of the pitching staff were out -there with “Red,” but most of the players were still standing around -the office when Wayne entered. For the moment none saw. - -“This is what comes of keeping your salary list down!” Manager Milburn -was declaring heatedly. “Lose two men and you’re shot to pieces! How -does he expect me to win games with only enough players to cover the -field? We have a right to twenty-two and he gives me nineteen! LaCroix, -you take first. You’ll have to play third, Jones, and Dan will play -second. Hold on! You catch Nye, don’t you? That won’t do then. I’d -better take second myself. Hustle out now, fellows. We’ve just got to -do the best we can and----” - -“Here’s your man now, Steve!” exclaimed someone, and Wayne, pausing -doubtfully inside the doorway, embarrassedly found himself the target -of all eyes. But it was for an instant only. The next thing he knew -Steve Milburn had him by the arm and was dragging him forward. - -“Where have you been?” he was demanding irately. “I told that nigger -boy of yours to send you out! Jimmy, hustle a uniform! Someone find me -a contract form in the closet! Yellow box on the shelf!” He turned to -Wayne. “Now, Sloan, you wanted a try-out and you’re going to get it,” -he said grimly. “Jimmy’ll give you a uniform. Pile into it and--can you -play third? Where have you played?” - -“Second, sir.” - -“Take it then! That lets me out!” - -“I can’t find any forms here, Boss,” sung out Briggs from the closet. - -“Never mind! This’ll do!” The manager dropped into the chair by the -littered table, opened a drawer and pulled out a pad of paper and wrote -hurriedly for a moment. And as he wrote he stabbed at Wayne with short -sentences. “You got your chance! Show what you know, youngster! Make -good and I’ll treat you white! Cap here will give you the dope. Do as -he tells you. Now sign your name here. Witness this, Cap.” - -“Hurry up, kid, and climb into these,” called Jimmy Slattery from the -dressing-room doorway. - -Wayne neither knew then nor later what he signed. Had there been time -to read the half-dozen lines he could scarcely have done so, for Mr. -Milburn’s writing was not the sort to be deciphered offhand. But he -hardly tried. The manager pushed a pen into his hand, Captain Cross -waited at his elbow and in thirty seconds he was hurrying toward the -armful of togs that the trainer impatiently dangled at the door. Jimmy -helped him change, or tried to help, and all the time dealt out advice -freely, none of which Wayne afterward recalled. Five minutes later he -was trotting out at the trainer’s heels, conscious of a thumping heart -and of the fact that the shoes on his feet were at least a size too -large for him. Then he was around the corner of the stand and Jimmy -Slattery was pushing him in the general direction of second base. - -“Go ahead, kid, and good luck to you!” said Jimmy. “Keep your nerve!” - -But that was far easier said than done. The stands were crowded and a -fringe of enthusiasts stood, three and four deep, inside the rope that -had been stretched along the left field side of the enclosure. Balls -were travelling back and forth, from base to base and base to plate, -bewilderingly, while overhead the long flies arched to the outfield. As -he passed in front of LaCroix, at first, the lantern-jawed, hook-nosed -giant grinned as he speared a high throw, and almost in the same motion -tossed it underhand to Wayne. - -“Chuck it in, Bill,” he directed. - -But if he thought to find Wayne asleep he was disappointed, for the boy -wheeled and caught the descending ball and threw it to the plate. The -throw was short and Steve Milburn barked across at him: “Keep ’em up, -Sloan!” Captain Cross met him and walked back with him to the trampled -ground behind the base line. “I’ll take the throws from the plate, -Sloan, but if I can’t get in for them it’s up to you. Anything’s yours -this side of the bag, but don’t crowd LaCroix too much. I’ll give you -the signals on the runners. Just keep steady and you’ll do all right, -kid. Come on now! Get into it!” - -Five minutes of fielding followed, Manager Milburn batting them out; -hard liners that brought Wayne up standing when they slammed into his -glove, slow rollers that sent him speeding nearly to the pitcher’s -box, pop-flies that lost themselves for a moment in the glare of the -sky, bounders that brought all his baseball instinct into play. On -the whole, he did none too well during that practice. More than one -ball went past him or dribbled out of his hands. Once he muffed a fly -miserably. Twice he overthrew to first. After the muffled fly he caught -the dubious expression on Captain Cross’ face and felt his heart sink. -Here, he thought, was the chance he had waited and longed for, and now -he was going to throw it away! But in the next moment he was gritting -his teeth and thumping fist into glove determinedly. He wouldn’t! He -could play far better than he had been playing! It was only the crowd -and the unnerving knowledge that so much depended on this afternoon’s -performance that accounted for his fumbles. If only they had let him -practice just one morning, instead of thrusting him like this into a -game at a moment’s notice! And then the bell sounded and they were -trotting in to the bench. - -Manager Milburn beckoned to him and Wayne crossed to where he was -standing in front of the little press box. Steve looked him over -critically while Wayne, red-faced, dripping perspiration, waited. -Finally: “How did it go?” asked the manager. - -Wayne smiled wanly. “Not very well, sir. I--I reckon I’m sort of -nervous.” - -“Of course you are! You’ll forget that, though. Don’t take it too -hard, Sloan, or you’ll pull a boner, sure as shooting. Keep cool, -that’s the main thing. Use your head all the time. I’m not expecting -miracles, son,” he added kindly. “Just do your best. That’s all I’m -asking of you. Can you hit?” - -“I--yes, sir. I mean, I have hit some, but----” - -“All right. We’ll soon see. Better try to wait him out the first time. -Watch his pitching and try to make him give you what you can hit after -that. All right, fellows! On the run!” - -Then the game started, Nye in the box for the Badgers, Dan Young -catching, LaCroix on first in place of Morgan, Jones playing third -for Bennett, and an unknown at second. The umpire had announced the -latter’s name as Sloan, or something like that, but no one had ever -seen him before or heard of him. He was a well-set-up youngster and, -in spite of the spills he had made during practice, carried himself -like a ball player. The “fans” watched him and reserved judgment, -asking each other how Steve had managed to get hold of him at less -than a half-hour’s notice. For it had been five minutes past three -when the accident had happened that had sent three of the Badgers’ -best players to the hospital, Bennett, as was learned later, with a -broken leg, Morgan with three ribs caved in, and Pitcher Cotton with -enough contusions to keep him out of the game for a week at least. -Morgan, said that evening’s paper, would be back at work in a fortnight -possibly, but young Bennett was out of it for the rest of the year. - -Ripley occupied the mound for Damascus that afternoon, and was -discouragingly effective. After “Hop” Nye had escaped punishment in -the first half of the initial inning by the skin of his teeth, a fine -stop of a possible two-bagger by Cross and a phenomenal catch of a long -fly by O’Neill warding off disaster, Harrisville went in to be mowed -down one, two, three by the elongated spit-ball artist of the visiting -club. No one got the ghost of a hit in that inning or any other while -Ripley was in the box; no one on the home team, that is. Damascus had -better luck, touching up Nye for three hits with a total of five bases, -but failing to score for all of that. The game went to the sixth a -pitcher’s battle pure and simple, with Ripley getting the long end of -it, both teams working like beavers and not a runner passing second. - -Wayne’s opportunities to distinguish himself were few, for strike-outs -were numerous. Four chances were accepted by him in the first five -innings, but none was difficult. At the bat, he followed Manager -Milburn’s advice the first time up and tried his best to work a pass. -But Ripley was not generous that way and Wayne soon walked back to the -bench with the umpire’s “He’s out!” in his ears. In the last of the -fifth, with LaCroix on first base and none out, he had a second trial -at the plate and, after getting in the hole, landed on a straight ball -and smacked it squarely into third baseman’s hands. - -It was in the sixth inning that the ice was broken by Damascus. Before -anyone realised it she had filled the bases with only one out. Nye was -plainly wabbling and “Red” Herring and Nick Crane were warming up back -of third. The Damascus left fielder landed on the first pitch and Cross -got it on the bound and hurled it to the plate. But the throw was wide -and, although Young made the catch, the runner was safe and Damascus -had scored. She scored again a minute later when the following batsman -flied out to short left, for the best “Sailor” O’Neill could do was to -hold the next runner at third. With two gone, a hit out of the infield -was imperative and the Damascus catcher tried his best to get it. That -he didn’t was no one’s fault but Wayne’s, for he started the ball off -his bat at a mile a minute and streaked down the base path, while the -other bags emptied like magic. Four yards to the left of first base -sped the ball, ascending as it went. LaCroix stabbed at it and missed -it by inches and it was Wayne, who had started with the sound of the -hit, who leaped into the air behind LaCroix and brought joy to the -stands and sorrow to Damascus. That circus catch, for it was scarcely -less, started Wayne on the road to fame, a fame at present presaged by -cheers and hand-clapping as, somewhat embarrassed, he walked back to -the bench. - -“Lift your cap,” chuckled Cross as he and Wayne neared the first base -stand. “Where’s your manners, kid?” - -Wayne obeyed sketchily and dropped onto the bench aware of the amused -glances of his team mates. From the other end Mr. Milburn nodded to -him. “Good stop, Sloan,” he said. But that was all. - -Harrisville again failed to hit or score and the seventh began. Nye was -derricked when he had passed the first man up and “Red” Herring ambled -to the mound. “Red” was wild for a few minutes but then settled down -and, after Young’s clever peg to Cross had retried the man from first, -the inning was virtually over. A long fly to right and a stop and throw -by Jones settled matters. - -The seventh witnessed a change of fortunes. “Sailor” O’Neill led off -with a clean single and LaCroix advanced him to second and reached -first safely. Ripley retired then and a left-hander named Marks took -his place. Marks was a man of wide curves and slow delivery. Wayne -tried desperately to get a hit but fanned, which, considering that -his advance to the plate had been greeted by applause, was horribly -humiliating. But Leary found Marks for one, scoring O’Neill and putting -LaCroix on third. Young flied out to deep centre and LaCroix scored, -Leary advancing. Herring smashed a liner to shortstop too hot to handle -and Leary beat out the subsequent throw to the plate by inches. Cross -hit safely but was doubled up with Briggs a few minutes later. - -Damascus came back in the first of the eighth and added another run, -tying the score at three each. Herring passed the first man up and -although he struck out the next two, a momentary let-down paved the -way for a two-bagger and sent the tying tally across. A moment later a -quick peg from Herring caught the runner at second a foot off the bag -and brought relief to the anxious audience. - -Jones started the last of the eighth for Harrisville by flying out to -pitcher. O’Neill, undaunted, waited until the score was two-and-three -and then busted the next offering through the infield for a long -rolling hit that placed him on second and wrought the spectators to a -frenzy of delight. LaCroix was up next and Wayne followed LaCroix. -Wayne was wondering anxiously whether he would have better success -this time. Already four hits had been made off Marks, proving that he -was far from formidable, and yet when Wayne, swinging his bats between -bench and plate, saw LaCroix match his wits against Marks’ and come off -second best in the contest it seemed futile for him to hope to succeed. -LaCroix swung at one and missed it, judged two balls wisely, fouled -into the first base stand for a second strike and then let go at one -and popped it nicely into shortstop’s glove. Wayne dropped one of the -two bats he had been swinging and stepped to the rubber. - -Two out, a man on second and a run needed to break the tie! A hit, -nothing less, was expected of Wayne, and he realised it. At first the -thought was horribly disturbing. He heard the applause from the stands, -less hearty this time, since he had failed them before, and it added to -his tremors. He felt himself absurdly young and inexperienced and--yes, -actually scared! He wished himself back on the bench, any place save -where he stood, facing the pitcher with the muscles at the back of his -legs trembling! They were talking to him and at him, his own side and -the enemy, but what they said was confused and meaningless, and it was -not until the Damascus catcher called down to his pitcher to “Fan the -kid, Walt!” that any words registered on his brain. - -“Fan the kid!” That meant him. He didn’t mind being called a kid by -his fellow players, but the catcher’s tone was a veiled insult, and -something very much like anger welled up in Wayne’s breast. He tugged -down his visor, seized the bat more firmly, and determined to show them -that a kid could hit! He made up his mind then and there to forget -everything but the task in front of him, to even forget that there were -already two out and that so much depended on him, and suddenly, why he -couldn’t have told, the certainty that he _could_ hit possessed him -firmly. - -Marks looked him over. He leaned forward to get the catcher’s signal. -Then he stood for an instant and Wayne knew that he was undecided what -to offer him. “I’ll have a good look at the first one,” Wayne told -himself, “no matter what it is!” - -And when it came it was well worth looking at, for it was a nice curve -over the corner of the plate and was a strike. - -“’Ata, boy!” called the Damascus catcher. “You’ve got him beaten, -Walt.” But Wayne paid no heed. His conviction that he could hit that -ball was still strong. He had watched the first offering all the way -and had had no trouble keeping it in sight. Marks evidently thought -his curve ball, an outcurve to a right-handed batter, had fooled the -latter once and that he had better try it again. Wayne was ready for it -and meant to try very hard to hook it low into right field. His guess -was correct, for what came was the same sort of delivery. But it was a -little lower and Wayne missed it and heard the second strike called on -him. - -[Illustration: His Conviction that he Could Hit that Ball Was Still -Strong] - -But even yet he was confident. With two strikes against him he still -felt certain of getting that hit. It surely looked as if Marks had him -in a hole, but Wayne somehow knew that he hadn’t. Followed then two -wide ones, just outside the plate, and Wayne, expecting them, made -no offer. He knew that Marks was tempting him to bite at them and -resolutely held back. And then came the fifth delivery. - -It looked good as it left the pitcher’s hand. It was coming to Wayne -about waist-high and he thought it would break toward him and drop a -trifle. As it neared the plate he stepped to meet it, and when it broke -he put all his strength into the lunge and tried to send it between -first baseman and the bag. He met it hard and started with the crack of -the bat. He saw the ball shooting low inside the foul line, saw first -baseman leap toward it, and, digging harder than ever, saw the ball -strike the bag and go bounding out into the field! - -He knew then that he was safe, knew that he had done what was expected -of him, and was terrifically glad. As he turned first he saw second -baseman standing idle and heard the voice of Steve Milburn in the -coaching box yelling him on, and he legged it hard for second. He saw -the ball coming in then, but the throw was to the plate and he slid to -second unchallenged. As he got to his feet again he was fairly dismayed -by the pandemonium that arose from the stands, and then, for the first -time since he had determined to forget everything save the business of -hitting the ball, he remembered O’Neill! - -Anxiously he looked to third. He was not there. But of course not! -He had either scored or been put out at the plate! He turned to the -Damascus shortstop. “Did you get him?” he asked. - -“No,” was the disgusted reply. “He was safe by a mile!” - -And then Wayne understood why the stands were cheering and roaring! -Harrisville had scored! The Badgers were one run to the good! - -Gradually the babel of sound died away. Leary was at bat. Wayne led -off, danced back again, keeping an eye on the shortstop, watching the -pitcher as well, listening to warnings from the coachers. If only Leary -would come through! But Leary failed. A sharp crack, a sudden leaping -dive by second baseman as Wayne sped along the path, a left-hand toss -to first and the inning was over, and Wayne, turning disappointedly -back to his position, heard the cheers and clapping break forth afresh, -and wondered! - -It was all over ten minutes later, all over, that is, but the shouting, -and that didn’t last long after the Harrisville players scuttled from -field to dressing-room. In the doorway, smiling broadly now, stood Mr. -Milburn, and as Wayne pushed through with the rest the manager’s arm -shot out and seized on his shoulder and dragged him aside. - -“I’m going to tear up that contract, Sloan,” he said. - -“Tear it up!” faltered Wayne. - -“Yes.” The manager’s eyes twinkled. “It wasn’t any good, anyway! -Tomorrow I’ll have a new one ready for you. I’m going to sign you on to -play second base, Sloan, at a hundred and ten a month. That suit you?” - -Wayne only nodded, but the expression on his face was answer enough. -Mr. Milburn laughed and pushed him good-naturedly on. “All right! Sign -up tomorrow morning, and----” - -But his remark was never finished, for just then there was an excited -barking outside and a little yellow dog burst through the doorway and -leaped at the boy. And following Sam appeared the grinning face of June. - -“Mas’ Wayne, sir, I hear down to the hotel as you-all’s playin,” panted -June, “an’ I jus’ nachally had to come, sir! I reckon I done lose my -job, but I ain’ carin’!” - -“Never mind your job,” laughed Wayne, as he picked Sam up in his arms. -“You’ve got a new job after today, June.” - -“Say I is? What I goin’ do, Mas’ Wayne?” - -“You’re going to look after me, June; and Sam. We’re going to find -those rooms tomorrow and go to keeping house. We--we’re going to live -like white folks again!” - -“Lawsy-y-y!” cried June. - - -THE END - - - - - Transcriber’s Notes: - - --Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_); text in - bold by “equal” signs (=bold=). - - --Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected. - - --Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved. - - --Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved. - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Second Base Sloan, by Christy Mathewson - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SECOND BASE SLOAN *** - -***** This file should be named 52407-0.txt or 52407-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/2/4/0/52407/ - -Produced by Donald Cummings and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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