“You used to call on men you’d never seen when you sold that ‘Popular History of Ohio,’ or whatever it was, didn’t you?” “That was different.” “Yes; you were trying to do them out of their hard-earned money. All you want from Mr. Hall is a kind word.” “That was a perfectly good book,” answered Sam defensively. “When do you suppose I’d find him at his office?” Tom glanced at the little tin clock on his desk. “After nine, I guess.” He put his clasped hands behind his head, leaned back, and viewed his friend amusedly. “Sam, you’re an awful coward about some things, aren’t you?” he asked. “You wouldn’t hesitate to try and sell a book to a man, but you hate to just call socially.” “I used to be scared to death every time I rang a doorbell when I was selling that book,” replied Sam, with a shake of his head. “I wish Mr. York had given me a letter of introduction to him.” “Want me to go over with you and introduce you?” laughed Tom. “If you feel so bashful why not take a book with you and try to sell it to him? I’ll lend you our telephone directory. You can call it anything you like--‘Child’s History of Amesville,’ ‘Things Every Lawyer Should Know,’ ‘How to Tell the Trolley Cars’----” “Dry up,” said Sam. “What about this game Saturday?” “Why, nothing, except that we want like anything to win it, Sam. Lynton does too. Fact is, there’s quite a little rivalry between us this year. They beat us pretty badly the first game and so Sid got them to play us again. Then we licked them. That was a week ago last Saturday. Then they decided they’d have to play a third game and so they’re coming over to-morrow.” “How did they happen to get away with the first game?” asked Sam. “Principal reason, better playing,” laughed Tom. “Did they get to you?” “Not once.” “Then how the dickens----” “I didn’t play. We’d just got in a big invoice of goods and I had to stay and help here at the store. Mr. Cummings wanted me to go, but I saw that Mr. Wright thought I ought to stick around.” “Who did pitch?” asked Sam. “Various members of our brilliant team--Buster, Tommy Hughes, and Joe Kenny. I believe even Sid tried an inning. I dare say it was a lot of fun for Lynton.” “What was the score?” Tom gazed at the ceiling. “Eighteen to three,” he said softly. Sam whistled. Then, “What about to-morrow?” he asked anxiously. “Any more invoices in sight?” Tom laughed. “Not a one. To-morrow, Sam, we’ll everlastingly whale those chaps! Revenge is the order of the day. By the way, they tried to get us to agree to play the same line-up, but we told them we couldn’t promise that.” Tom grinned. “Then I wrote to you. How are you hitting, Mr. Councillor?” “Not much. Mr. York says I take too long a swing. I guess I do, too.” “Oh, never mind that if you hit the ball; results are what count.” “Mr. York says if I take a shorter swing I’ll hit oftener.”