“I happen to know he tells the truth. He came on from the West and spent all the spring getting into condition. He seemed to have a cinch. There was talk of farming him, and holding him over for next year, but a certain power prevented, and he suddenly found himself out in the cold, cold world. Jersey City wants him; Los Angeles wants him; Fort Worth wants him. But he wants revenge. He was the man who talked me into the idea of getting together a team of outcasts and showing up some of the big teams.” “How do you propose to show them up?” “Beat them at their own game.” “That’s easy enough—to talk about.” “It can be done.” “They won’t play you. At this time of the year they are pretty busy among themselves, with no open dates.” “You forget Sundays. Sunday baseball is not played in Boston, New York, and several other places. Every Sunday a number of big-league teams rest, while others play. On week days we can get games with the best independent teams.” “And lose money right along.” “No. Hurley says he knows a dozen men who have been dropped, and who will go into the scheme heartily if they see a chance to get up against one or two of the big teams, so they can demonstrate what they can do. These men are enthusiastic, and they’ll play for expenses up to the time that the team makes money. They will sign with the understanding that they are to be paid certain salaries if the receipts justify it. You see there is no probability of any great loss, and there is a possibility of big profits.” Gowan meditated. “After showing me that a team of fast players can be made up,” he finally wheezed, “you’ll have to show me that such a team can get at least one game with some of the majors.” “Will you take hold of it then?” “I—I may,” answered the stout man cautiously. “Well, here, I have a pull with two managers who will favor me. Look at these letters. Here’s one from Collins, of Boston, and this from McGraw. Both promise to give me a game if I get the team and they find an open date.” Gowan adjusted a pair of spectacles and examined the letters placed before him, while McGann lighted a cigarette. “All very friendly and fine,” admitted the stout man, as he refolded the letters; “but neither man makes a definite promise.”