“I think I told him about eight. By the way, did you hear me having fun with Nick Turner?” “Who’s he?” “Why, that fellow who pitched for Lynton.” “Smith, you mean? So his name is Turner, eh? Was that you who hurled insults at him from the stand?” “Insults, nothing!” Mr. York chuckled. “I only asked him why he left Shreveport and how much he was getting to-day and a few things like that. Only asked for information, John.” “Well, you broke up the game, you old schemer! Who is this chap?” “Nick Turner? Pitched two years ago for Shreveport. Never was much good, though. Knew him the minute I saw him pitch. I dare say those Lynton boys made up a ten-dollar purse to get him to work for them to-day. They ought to be spanked. I was glad you fellows here licked them without any outside assistance.” “They talked about having me pitch for them,” replied Mr. Hall, with a smile. “I believe I agreed to do it if necessary.” “Glad you didn’t, old man. By the way, I telephoned out to the Country Club when I didn’t find you at your office, and they said you weren’t there. Just by accident I heard of the ball game from a conductor on a trolley-car and said to myself, ‘I’ll bet a million the old loafer’s out there!’ Didn’t find you in the stand, though, and didn’t think of looking for you below; not until you and another chap got to thumping each other like two kids; saw you then. Those kids played a pretty good game of ball, didn’t they? And wasn’t that fellow who pitched for Amesville the same one we saw last spring?” “Yes, Tom Pollock. He’ll make his mark some day, I guess.” “Sure to; he’s a good pitcher.” “I didn’t mean as a pitcher,” replied the other. “I meant as a man. I suppose, though, you can’t understand judging anyone except by his ability to play baseball, you crazy fan!” “I like that! Crazy fan, eh? What were you doing to-day? Why weren’t you in your office attending to business? How do you expect to get on in the world if you go to ball games and such puerile affairs?” “Oh, Saturday’s a half holiday here,” Mr. Hall laughed. “Here we are. Did you leave your bag here?” “Yes, the hall porter took charge of it. Show me a tub of cold water, John. I’m two inches deep in train dust!” It was a few minutes before eight when Sam, turning into Main Street at the corner of the Adams Building, saw Mr. Hall and Mr. York just entering the big doorway. He caught up with them at the elevator and as they were whisked aloft past dark corridors he had to listen to much praise. “You played a regular air-tight game, Sam,” declared Mr. York. “And that throw to second at the last was a marvel. What did you think when you heard me yell?” “There wasn’t time to think anything,” replied Sam. “If I’d stopped to think I’d never have thrown that way, sir. You see, I haven’t much chance to try it yet.” “But you _had_ tried it, hadn’t you?” “Not in a game, sir; just in practise the other day.”