“Take it then! I’ll drop the man a note and tell him I’ve got just the fellow for him; baseball captain, all-around athlete, fine swimmer, highly moral, and a wonder at handling boys! How’s that?” “Pack of lies,” replied Sam, with a smile. “You let me take this letter and I’ll think it over to-night and talk to mother and Nell about it and see you in the morning. If they think it’s all right maybe I’ll try for it. Just the same, I know mighty well he’ll think I’m too young.” “In years, maybe,” said Tom, “but in experience, Sam!” Tom shook his head knowingly. “It’s experience that counts, my boy.” “You’re a chump,” said Sam. “Mind if I take this, though?” “Not a bit. Let me know in the morning, Sam. Joking aside, I think it would be a first-rate thing. You’d come back in September simply full of health and able to lick your weight in bear-cats. We’ll miss you, though, if we get the ball team together again. Who could we get to catch for us, Sam?” “Buster Healey.” “That’s so, he might do. Anything else I can sell you, Sam?” “No, I guess not. Did I pay you for this?” “Not yet. You needn’t if you don’t want to. Let me charge it to you.” “No, thanks,” said Sam hurriedly, diving for his money. “If I get that place I’ll need this mitt, I guess. I’ve been trying to persuade myself all the morning that I really ought to have it.” “Another reason for accepting the job, Sam,” said Tom cheerfully. “It’ll justify your extravagance.” “That’s putting ’em over,” said Sam, with a chuckle. “‘Justify your extravagance!’ Gee, Tom, that’s real language, that is!” “Yes, right in the groove, Sam. Say, I’d like to get out and pitch a few. What are you doing this evening? Let’s get a ball and see how it feels. Will you? Good stuff! Drop around here at five and get me.” CHAPTER II OFF FOR CAMP Sam gave his new mitt a good try-out that evening. He and Tom and Tom’s particular chum, Sid Morris, took possession of the alley behind the hardware store and, admiringly regarded by a dozen or so small boys, pitched and caught until supper-time. Sidney, a slim, lithe, handsome chap of nearly eighteen, had been told about The Wigwam and, like Tom, sighed because he could not accept the position himself. “I’ll tell you what, though, Sam,” he said, as he made an imaginary swing at the ball just before it thumped into Sam’s new glove, “if you go up there Tom and I will come and visit you for a day or two. I suppose they’d let us, wouldn’t they, Tom?”